


Sulfur Sky

by Goodnight_Nightvale



Series: In Which Strex Gets Too Involved [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Cecil Might be Human or Inhuman, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Loyalty, M/M, Manipulation, Protective Carlos, Protective Cecil, Punishment, Science, Science Experiments, Secrets, Strexcorp, Whump, but not by choice, i just have so many feelings and i want to tag all the tags, thanks strexcorp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:14:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 75,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1542185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goodnight_Nightvale/pseuds/Goodnight_Nightvale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has secrets- even Carlos. Even Cecil.<br/><i>Especially</i> Carlos and Cecil.<br/>When dragged into the light, everything they think they feel and know is tested. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?<br/>Or it will simply break you apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [ VOICEMAIL ]

**Author's Note:**

> Formatting choice is due to the fact that this is an ongoing roleplay.
> 
> Also- please, feel free to leave comments. We love comments. ;u; And we want to know what you think.

"Hey. Hey, Carlos. Look, it's. Cecil. Obviously. God, I just. This was sort of a last-ditch attempt at getting ahold of you. All my texts are bouncing back and none of my calls are getting through and- Did you get my voicemails? Any of them?  Will you get this one? I have to try.

 No one's seen you or heard from you, and none of your interns will talk to me. They all tell me you're 'stuck at work' but you're not at the lab and they won't tell me where 'work' is.

 I saw Dana again today. She said she may have found a way back. Like, for good. Isn't that great? We all knew she would, of course, she told us so herself, but this soon? I was thinking, like, a few years. Tell me you think that's great, Carlos.

 Tell me you think I'm stupid. Tell me it worries you. Tell me anything, God. Anything. Tell me...Tell me you're all right. Please tell me you're all right. Wherever you are, tell me you're safe." Shaky inhale. "Call me back. Text me. Just- I almost lost you once, okay? I can't- I can't- Think about that happening again. Sitting here, helpless and useless and thinking you might be hurt, or dead, or- I can't do that again."

 Muffled sob, low and off-key. Trying to hide it.

 "Two weeks. Two weeks and nothing. Everything's happening all at once here and you're gone. I need- I n- I need you.  I need to see you. I need to hear you. I need you to tell me not to be afraid because I am afraid, Carlos. For the first time in my life, I am really, honestly afraid for Night Vale. I'm afraid of Night Vale.  Something's happened to the Secret Police. I think- I think they may be disband. The angels are still gone, Josie is gone. So many people are missing, Carlos.

 Dana said she knows where you are. She won't tell me anything. She says we should leave. Get out of Night Vale. Go somewhere far away. But I can't. This is my home. I was born and raised here. I-I think I was, anyway. Either way, I won't abandon it. I won't abandon you."

 Pause. Soft, wet breaths.

 "Please call me back. Please call me back. Carlos. Call me back. Okay. Love you. I do. I always have. Always will. Bye."

 And click.

 ---------------------

 

 The message begins with a few long seconds of silence, accompanied by a muffled static crackle in the background.

 "Cecil, they... I..." The voice is hoarse, though it's difficult to determine what from. "I'm sorry that I took this long to respond. Okay? If there was a way for me to come home right now..." A pause, and then the sound of a throat being cleared. "I wasn't able to use my phone for the past two weeks. But now I can, luckily, and hopefully will still be able to for some time."

 A deep inhale. When the voice returns there's a noticeable tremor, leaking around the barrier of forced professionality. "I got your voicemails. I...listenedto them. A lot of times. I miss your voice s-so much, all right, and I know that's probably a weird thing to say, but it's true.

 "You wanted me to reassure you, and to tell you things. You aren't stupid. You matter so, so much to me. Of course I worry about you; I always worry about you. But I can't tell you not to be afr- Not to- To..."

 More silence. More static.

 "Cecil," he says softly, "Cecil, take care. Really, really take care, and don't get yourself into more danger than you have to.Ah, the phone signal is starting t-!"

 --------------------

 

 "Thank God. Thank God." Cecil has always been emotional, so much more emotional than he lets show on the radio. His voice now is shamelessly tear-filled, strained with the effort of not breaking. "You...I..." Low sob. "What do you mean you couldn't use your- Is someone hurting you? Are you hurt? Carlos-!" A pause. A long silence, then, and when the voice returns, it is the low, caramel-smooth, deep tones of The Voice of Night Vale. It is something Cecil does when he is forcing himself to be calm, a separate headspace. Almost another personality entirely.

 "Hey. I'm just a harmless little radio broadcaster sitting in my booth watching the world from behind the glass. I'm never in danger. That's what I have interns for."  But the laugh is broken and bitter like shattered glass, and he can't hold it. "I'll be fine. Okay? I promise. I promise, I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Don'twaste energy worrying about lil' old Cecil. God, Carlos..." The Voice breaks, cracks, breaks down. 

 "I miss you, too." Strained again, and he's crying. He's crying, helplessly now. "I miss your voice, too. And I miss your smile, and your smell, and- I-I'm not. Afraid. Not when you're here, with me, I'm not afraid. But you're not. You're not, and I can't do this, I can't-!" Hand over his mouth, gasping, panting inhales. "I can't. I can't. I went thirty-four years without you and now I can'teven think about another week- I'm sorry. Listen to me. God, I'm sorry." Another inhale, slow and deep, struggling for composure. "I-I'm going to try and tinychat you. I know you have a laptop. I want to see you. I need to see you, Carlos, I need to, I can't- I'm going to try it. Today. Please be there. I feel like I'm losing my mind. What's left of my mind." Another shuddering inhale. "Whatever's wrong, Carlos, I can help you. I can- Dana and I, we can help you. I can't do nothing anymore, I feel like my head hurts, all the time, a never ending fucking migraine and- I just- I need to see you. I love you. I love you. I love you." 

 And click on a broken, helpless sob.

 ------------------


	2. [ VIDEO CHAT ]

He knows that they will disapprove, but he has to see Cecil. He knows that desperation in his voice, that pain. And so he does what he has to - yet another bargain - in order to convince them to let him have this chance.

 The tinychat loads. It loads and loads and Carlos clenches and unclenched his hands and waits. He needs this. He needs Cecil. He needs him like he needs air, now more than ever.

 When he sees Cecil's face in the small rectangle of screen he whimpers and his vision blurs and his hand shakes too much for him to click the broadcast button at first.

 --------------------

  

It takes too long. It takes too long and he wants to snarl curses and throw his computer through the window and scream at it to hurry up, but none of these things will help. And then Carlos is there. Carlos, with his beautiful hair - not anymore, now it is in disarray as if the man has been running his hands through it over and over - and his dark eyes and his soft, dark skin. And he's so thin, and there are stress lines under his eyes and his hands shake like he's sick. And he looks like he might be crying, or about to cry, and that breaks Cecil's heart.

 Cecil himself looks unchanged; same bright eyes, same soft blonde hair, but his smile is gone, the light in his eyes and on his face in gone. He is thin and pale and when he see Carlos he beams but it's the saddest smile you can imagine. "Carlos." His voice, trembling over the mike, broken and soft. "Carlos. Oh, God. Oh. Hi. Hi." A weak laugh. "You're here. You're- You're okay. Are you okay? Are you- Where are you? Dammit, Carlos, where the hell-?" His slender hand covers his mouth, eyes closing. He quiversfor a moment, then speaks.

 "Two weeks. Two weeks. You just vanished. I thought- I- God, when peoplevanish here they don't they don't come back, Carlos. And Strex, and..." Crack, break. "I thought I lost you again. I thought..."

 -----------------------

  

Carlos bites down hard on his lower lip as Cecil speaks. Even with all the sadness, the radio host is beautiful, in that same elegant inhuman way as ever. If anything, the rawness of the emotional outpour just makes him even more lovely.

 "I..." He holds up a hand. "I... Cecil, I'm good. I'm fine." In reality, he has a bad limp and a bandage around his ankle, but Cecil doesn't need to know that.

 "You know how there are some things people can't talk about? This is one of those. I wish I could explain it all but I can't, but I promise that my reasons are valid. We'll find a way, and hopefully soon I can come see you again, but... Not yet."

 He remembers the crack in Cecil's voice, and he swallows hard. "I need..." His voice is soft, almost trembling. "I need you to promise that you won't come look for me."

 -----------------------

  

"Hopefully soon you can see me again?" His voice raises an octave, cracks a second time. Hisbeautiful, fathomless eyes flash with passion, voice drops into its lower register and into a growl. "Hopefully? No. No. Carlos, no." And there is the defiance that is so rare in Cecil.Normally he is sweet and complacent, barking like a good dog, doing and saying as he is told. Before Strex, he even seemed to agree with most, if not all of it.The worst he ever did was roll his eyes at it.

 There is a steely strength to him, though it's hard to see. He stops, pulls off his glasses and presses his fingers into his eyes. Silence for a long moment. He groans softly and shifts to press his fingers into his temples instead. After a long moment, he snaps, "You expect me to just sit here and do nothing?""To justsit here and pine and worry and pray that the next time I talk to you won't be the last?"

 And stop. Breathe, inhale, exhale, slow.

 "Sweet, brave, beautiful Carlos." Almost a whisper. "How am I supposed to make a promise like that? How am I supposed to- To- You're not fine, don't lie to me!" Voice arcing up, crashing down like thunder. "You're not fine. And I can't sit- Sit- Just sit here- Just-!" Face in both hands this time. "Come home. Carlos, come home." Broken and low, more sob then voice.

 Come home. Not to Night Vale. To Cecil.

 ---------------------------

 

Carlos visibly cringes as the voice coming through his laptop raises. He can't look at Cecil. He can't look and see all of the passionate anger and know that he is the one responsible for that.

The scientist brings both hands up, clenching them in his hair. He can taste a subtle metallic tang. He must've bitten his lip harder than he had realized.

 "There would be conse- I, I can't," he chokes out. "I, no, I can't. And I don't know what I'll do if something happens to you while I'm here."

 ---------------------------

  

Silence. "You're bleeding." Soft and small. "Carlos. Sweet Carlos. Look at me." A slow, long inhale. "Please look at me?" The last thing he wants is this conversation to be a fight; the last thing he wants is to add to Carlos's hurt. Sigh. He wants to touch, brush Carlos's face and pet his soft hair and press their foreheads together.

 He wants to kiss him.

 "Nothing's going to happen to me," he assures, low and confident, because Carlos doesn't need to worry about him on top of whatever is happening. "I promise you. Nothing will happen to me. I'll be safe." He exhales, and he's stuffed up. He sniffles. He's crying again. "You have to be safe, too, ok? I don't- I don't know." He puts his face in his hands.  "I'm notstrong. I'm notlike Tamika, or Dana, or you. I'm not. I can't. I can't do this without you, okay? So be safe and come home." A whimper. "Whatever they're saying to you, whatever they're doing, just... Get it over with and come back. I need you so much. Maybe that's pathetic. Maybe I'm stupid, I just..."

 ---------------------------

 

"I need you too," Carlos says quickly before Cecil can continue, "I need you more than anything." He forces himself to look up the screen.  And what little selfcontrol he had left crumbles.

 He pushes his glasses up onto his head, digging knuckles into eyes as though doing so will make the tears go back in.

 "God, C-Cecil, you're ridiculous. Of course you’re strong. You're the strongest person I know and have ever known. If I was that strong, then I would've found some other way. I would be with you right now. I'm far weaker than you think."

 ---------------------------

 

A gentle, soft laugh. "Oh, God, now I'm making you cry." And a desperate attempt to staunch his own tears. God, he wants to take Carlos in his arms so badly. He hates seeing Carlos upset, hates seeing him hurt, and wants to comfort him. "Don't. Don't be stupid. I don't know who is holding what over your head- I mean, I can guess the who..." A moment of raw anger flashes over his face. "But I don't know what they've got to make you their dog or why. But you are Amazing. Okay? Amazing andbrave. So, so brave," he whispers. "Don't you do that. Don't you sell yourself short. You always do that." A weak sniffling laugh. "Most people run out of Night Vale screaming. You started dating the crazy radio host with the floating cat instead. You are wonderful." He pushes the palms of his hands into his eyes, wiping away the tears.

 "Can you- Can you at least tell me anything? What they want from you? What they're holding over you? I can maybe... I mean, Carlos, look at me. I'm not- I'm not- I have words, okay? Just words. But I know how to use them. If you can tell me anything, anything, I can help you. I can try. Carlos, I can't just pretend that everything is normal and that I'm fine and go about my daily life. I can't. I can'tthink, I can't concentrate-!"

 ---------------------------

 

Cecil's compliments simultaneously warm his heart and worsen the strain of longing. "You say that, you always do," he half-laughs and half-whispers. But he remembers that this man, with his face and his emotions and his words, is what he is fighting for. This man is who he is willing to give up everything for, even his own work.

 Even his own life, if it came down to that.

 He has to clear his throat again, and then brings one hand down to rub at his scruffy jaw. He needs to do something with his hands. Anything. "Do you really think," he says quietly, slowly, carefully, "that they're not listening? They're not reckless."

 ---------------------------

 

"I don't give a damn. Let them listen." Snapped, growled between clenched teeth. "Those bastards have the man I love, they can deal with my godsdamn fighting it." He takes another breath, slowly, with effort. "I say it because it's true,"he adds, far more softly, putting his head on his folded arms. He is now nothing but a shock of blonde hair, bent back, hiding his face. "It's true. I'll say it forever." Rough inhale. He's still on the verge of tears, trying so hard to keep them at bay. Carlos might be willing to die to protect him, but his deathwould kill Cecil as much as a bullet to the head would.

And if Cecil knew what this was about, it would break him. If that was still possible, from the way the normally cheerful, happy man curled there, close to the laptop, as if he was close to Carlos himself. "This is bullshit. This is fucking bullshit." But it's weak and low, broken words on a broken voice. He lifts his head after a moment, put his glasses back on and takes another breath to steady himself. "Can you even say how long they're keeping you? At all?"

 -------------------------

 

Let them listen, sure, sure. Let Cecil say whatever he wanted. But if any of the radio host's opinions came out on the air, there could - and would - be consequences.

 The fact that Cecil usually only cursed when he was furious beyond belief pretty clearly portrayed just how he felt about the situation. "I know it... It seems like bullshit, I know," he answers, not able to straightforwardly agree because they would not at all approve of that.

 Carlos in all of his hyper-attentive paranoia thinks he hears something, and turns his head. The world spins. God, he needs to drink something, he thinks, running hands through his hair. It's hard to remember toeat and drink with so much going on. "If... If I answer you, you're going to just get angrier and more upset."

 ------------------------

 

Cecil laughs,but he is anything but amused. "Trust me. I am as godsdamn upset as it is possible for me to be,"he growls out, clutching the sides of his head. "I have _never_ been this pissed off."

 It wasn't quite the truth, but it was close; he was hurt and frightened, but he was savagely angry, too. It's not helping, he knows it's not, but he feels like he's close to a breakdown and he's struggling with the urge to simply throw the laptop out of the top story of a very tall building.Or go live on the air and tell Strex exactly where they could go. But they would hurt Carlos. They would hurt him, and Cecil wouldn't do anything that might end in that. 

 "Which means you don't know. Godsdamnit, you don't know. You don't know. Carlos-!" Anger gone from his voice, replaced by that despair again. "God, please..." Hands over his mouth, trying, trying. Failing. Broken sob. One. Two. And then Cecil is simply crying into his hands, soft, airy little sobs that made nearly no sound.

 -------------------------

 

What could he say?

 What could he even do?

 "Cecil, I..." The scientist's voice is small. He wishes that he could reach right through the screen and pull Cecil into an embrace, to kiss him, to wipe off his tears, to hold him and cradle him. He leans forward, like that couple of inches will make a difference. "I l-love you, Cecil, and I'm not going to stop doing what I need to do until I can get back," Carlos speaks quickly, breathily, because he knows that if he stops talking he'll start crying again. "Never. No matter what I have to do or how long it takes, I'm going to do it, and we're going to- We- I promise. I promise you."

 --------------------

 

"I love you too." Through his tears, strained, but heartfelt. "I love you too, so much. Carlos, my Carlos..." He chokes, slightly, squeezes the sides of his head like it will press the migraine into remission. "But you don't know when that'll be. Another week, or a month, or a year, or longer- If they'll ever let you go, ever let you come back to me- And you won't- I can't even- I can't help." So like so many months ago, helpless and trapped, only able to watch, to sit on his hands and do nothing. He actually reaches out, and how heartbreaking is it. He reaches out, like he can touch, realizes he can't, and drops his arm, his face still pressed into it.

 "Okay." He whispers, after a moment, still crying softly. "Okay. You- I'm holding you to that. I am holding you to that, and if you lie to me I will never forgive you. You promised me." Looking up, face streaked with tears, his normally bright, glittering eyes dark and clouded with tears and despair. Sniffle. Struggle to compose again.

 "Remember to eat, okay?" Tiny voice. "Eat, Carlos. You forget- You always forget- Just... You have to eat. And- Please, Carlos, please, please don't- Don't get hurt. Please. Just. Be safe. Be safe, and just- Don't do anything stupid, andbe careful, and- And- Oh, godsdamn it, I can't do this..."

 ---------------------

 

"Yes. Hold me to it. I'll never back out on this, I swear, I'm- I- I wouldn't lie to you," he stammers. "I don't care how long I have to- I'll do anything, okay, I'll make this happen, I'm never giving up on this." Carlos shakily pushes his glasses back down onto his face. "Never. And we can keep talking, and we can text and call and tinychat and anything we need to as long as they let me and I'll make sure, I swear, to do whatever I have to so that we can talk, Cecil. Cecil. I can't, I couldn't..."

_Afford to lose you_ . He can't  bring himself to say it.

 Cecil's desire to care for him hadn't changed, and it probably never would. Carlos stretches his lips into a tight, strained smile, but there is definitely a touch of genuineness to it. "I'lltry to take care of myself. For you. And you... You can do it, you can do anything, seriously."

 ------------------------

 

 "You'd better not," he snaps, hand opening and closing, opening and closing. Helpless. "You'd better not. I'll be here, Carlos. Right here, okay? Right here, no matter how long I have to wait. I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving you. I love you."  He sniffles again, trying to take a deep breath. He nods with each assurance, each promise, nods weakly but unflinchingly and then makes a sound of pain, low in his chest.

 "Shh, shh. Hey, it's okay. I'm here," came the instant reply. "I'm here.  You won't lose me. I promise you that, I promise you I am not going anywhere." Hearing it without having to be told. It's part of the reason why they work. Cecil can hear what Carlos can't say. "I'll leave voicemails for you if you don't answer, special messages and maybe some _special messages_." And he actually manages a laugh, wet but real. "'I'll call every chance I get. Say goodnight and good morning and- And- I love you."

 "Don't try, do it." He scolds, rubbing an arm over his eyes. The next words wretch another sob from him, dry though. As if he's cried all he can. "You're sweet," he whispers. "I- Don't- I'm not-" A slow inhale. "Carlos thinks I can do anything." Playful as he can be, trying not to cry. "Listen to that. Who am I to let him down?My beautiful.... MyCarlos."

 ---------------------

 

Carlos isn't very good with words. He has never been. But Cecil's ability to understand him better than anyone else couldnever ceases to amaze him.

 "Please," he replies, smile softening and still-teary eyes crinkling a bit at the corners, "Please do. I'll look forward to every single message from you, every time I get to hear your voice. I'll save all that I can, and I'll leave you messages too. Every chance I get, I'll call you."

 "Oh. Cecil. You can, you really can, you're... You're incredible. You can do anything, even w-without...Even when I'm over here."

 -----------------------

 

"Every day," he purrs, closes and wipes his eyes again. The words make him sob, once, a single, lurching, choking noise. "Every chance, even if there's no reason, even if it's stupid. Carlos, you think there's more to me then there is." Broken and tiny. "I c-can't- I already feel like I'm about to implode, and it's been a week," he protests, heaving, sitting up properly and pulling his glasses back on.

 E _ven without me_ , Carlos had been about to say, and it stings and frightens him. He blushes softly, beautiful pink against pale cheeks. If it were in any other situation, it would be beautiful.  He loves the way Carlos's eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his laugh lines show, and he wishes with all his heart that they were there from honest happiness.

 "You think I'm...Stronger or smarter orbetter.... I'm just a stupid broadcaster, Carlos. Just a stupid dog, just someone sitting here while the best thing that ever happened to him is trapped somewhere. Is being hurt. I'm not incredible, I just... I get lucky." He laughs, leans forward and puts his face in his hands. "You say those things and you make me feel invincible, though," he whispers. "Like I coulddoanything. Everything. Dammit, Carlos, you make me fearless.  Youremind me who I am. What I am. You... You explain things, and you're there for me, and you know mesometimes better than I do. And sometimes I- I feel like- I think aboutthings- And you- And without you- You're not allowed to go missing for two weeks again, Carlos. I swear, I thought-!" Slow breath. Pinches the bridge of his nose again, low sound of pain. "You're not allowed to go missing for two weeks, and you're not allowed to die. I need someone to remind me, Carlos. I need you. Strictly, totally one hundred percent forbidden to die."

 ---------------------------

 

He sees Cecil's blush and wants to take those cheeks in his hands. "You didn't implode, Cecil, and you wouldn't, that's not how it works. You missed me. I missed you too, and I desperately wanted to talk to you and tell you that I'm okay. During those two weeks I insisted that this was something that I needed and that without talking to you I couldn't keep doing what they wanted me to do."

 The words had come out in a torrent, no stutters, no stumbles, no fumbling for what to say. "You say that..." Carlos clenches his hands, deciding that he has to keep this going. "You say that I think there's more to you than there is; I think you're just oversimplifying yourself. Do you remember when I first came to Night Vale? You do, of course you do. I thought that I knew what I was getting into, but I didn't. I'd made it through growing up with eight siblings, through getting constantly made fun of in school, college, and then grad school, through using my passion for science to get an important job only t-!" His voice catches, and he coughs. "I figured that Night Vale was just an interesting place with interesting scientific phenomena, and assumed I could make it through unassisted."

 "But then I met you, and..." Carlos laughs, squeezing his eyes shut, rubbing his hands over his face. "And you knew. You'd lived in this insane place for a long time, and despite your fears and concerns you kept going and that was so admirable. I couldn't have made it that long. I'm not brave, I'm just curious and oblivious. In the bowling alley I didn't- I- I didn't think I'd come that close to death, but that was what shocked me into realization. That I needed to have you by my side in order to keep going and learning and experiencing, that you're what holds me together. Don't oversimplify yourself. Don't tell me that you're just a stupid broadcaster because you're so, so much more."

 -------------------------

 

"Oh, Carlos." The voice is faint, soft, airy. He smiles despite the situation, despite himself. He feels the tears start to flow down his cheeks again, partly out of love and partly out of the hurt, the sorrow.  "Of course I made it, this is... It's just my home, it's just Night Vale. It just is what it is, it's... I'm just used to it." He stops, hand over his mouth, takes a shudderingly inhale.

 He winces at the reminder of the bowling alley and wipes at his eyes again, put his glasses back on to see properly. "I wish I could kiss you,"he whispers. "That... That goes both ways, okay?You're my rock, Carlos. When everything is in confusion and turmoil and you look at me and smile and...and you explain things and you explain. Me. And. Make everything make sense." He puts his face in his hands, sniffles.  "The way you march into everything head on... Call it brave or not, but it's part of why I love you. You belong here, Carlos. You belong with me."

 --------------------------

 

Carlos nods. "I... I do. I know I do. You're my home now, not even Night Vale, but you. I like explaining and the fact that my explaining can help you feel safe warms me inside.More than I can possibly describe. I want to feel you again, to..."

 Some muffled sounds off to the side. A door opening and then closing. Carlos glances to the side, his eyes widening slightly. His shoulders tense.

 "Cecil, I... They want me to... I can't be on much longer," he says in a hushed voice through gritted teeth.

 ----------------------------

 

"No. No, no, no, Carlos, no, you can't-!" A deep, shaky inhale. "You promised. Remember you promised.  Remember. " He swallows hard. "Call. I can call you. You text me. You promised, Carlos." He closes his eyes, fights the tears. "God.  I can't even hold your hand, I can't even kiss you." Another weak, lost sob. "I want your arms around me. I want- I want..." Weak gasping inhale. "My head hurts." Tiny. "I just want to curl in your arms and let you pet my hair and play with Kosh and..." He trembles silently for a moment, then kisses his fingers gently. Touches them to the screen. "I'll be safe. I'll be quiet. Don't worry about me. Just think about being safe and doing what you have to to get out of there. To get back to me. Please don't fight them. Don't do anything to get hurt. Just come home. Just... Just come home." Weakly, and he lowers his head again. "Just. Please."

 On Cecil's side, the undeniable sound of Dana's voice. Calling his name, soft and worried. He jerks with surprise, whacks his head and yelps with the pain. Cringing, he hisses out a breath. "I can't- Shit. I. I guess we have to. They don't hurt you, do they? "

 ----------------------------

 

"Of course I remember," Carlos breathes, because he knows what the radio host means, because he feels the exact same way. Because his entire body aches with how much he needs to feel Cecil against him, to soothe the man's every pain and worry. He doesn't say all that because he knows that Cecil knows and can read his silences. And because he doesn't have enough time to say all that he wants to say.

 Carlos too kisses his fingers and touches the screen. "I'll do everything that I can, Cecil. I... I'm fine. I'm okay. They need me functional, so." Grimace-smiling through the words.  They're standing by the door and watching him expectantly. He's not quite answering Cecil's question, but it's as much as he can muster. "Yeah, I. I. I love you, Cecil. More than anything. And I'll m-make this work, and I'll come home, I promise, I swear," he chokes, and then slams his laptop shut because if he doesn't do it now, then he knows he never will.

 ----------------------------

 


	3. [ PHONE CALL ]

There is a call a day later; as promised. A soft rush of sounds and the phone shaking,  and then Cecil's voice. He sounds stronger,  more steady,  typical of someone so used to the world around him being dangerous and unpredictable.  Adapting.  Adjusting.  "Hey." It's with a smile because he wants to make Carlos happy, make him feel better.  Make him feel good. He knows his voice soothes his scientist -knows Carlos often listens to him while he works. Or does at Nightvale,  anyway. He's already emailed him two podcasts of the show,  but he's not sure Carlos got them. He hopes so.

"Hey, you. I miss you. How are you? " As if he was just out of town -as if nothing was wrong.

\--------------------------

 

Apparently they're more okay with Carlos answering calls than they are with him video-chatting. Probably because he can still  _work_ while he's talking on the phone, he thinks, flipping through file folders.

Following the way that Cecil's composed himself, Carlos attempts the same. "I miss you too. I'm doing alright, getting a lot done." He finally locates the file he needs - for all of their corporate prowess, whoever organized this place clearly didn't know the meaning of the word 'organize'. "Sometimes," he says after a moment, setting down the file, not wanting to bring sentimentality into this but needing to say this anyway, "at night, I reach out, but there is no one next to me."

\---------------------------

There is a tiny sound of abject  _agony_ . "I am, though." Soft and low, and despite his pain he wants , right now, nothing more then to ease Carlos. Wants to comfort and sooth and take his pain away as much as he can with the distance between them. "I am always right beside you, beautiful Carlos. " He lets his voice drop into radio quality.

He does not say that sometimes he thinks he hears Carlos's voice, that sometimes he smells his cologne. Does not tell him about the nightmares.

\----------------------------

"I understand," he murmurs, "I know." But Carlos knows that there is a difference between Cecil being with him in thought and being actually corporeally /with him/, and that is what hurts.

"But how are you?" he asks because he needs to know. "How are you doing?"

\----------------------------

"I'm-" _Aching. Tired. Scared. Angry. Hurt._ "I'm okay. Fine. As fine as can be expected." Because he needs to be as strong as Carlos thinks he is; needs to be brave and selfless and okay. Needs to be okay, because Carlos is trapped somewhere terrible with terrible people and Carlos is alone and frightened and hurt and probably still forgetting to eat. "I'm lonely. I miss you." Because he deserves that truth, anyway. "I'm worried about you." _I have headaches and I can't sleep and  I keep getting nightmares where I find your body or I wake up and you're beside me, cold and dead, and it's my fault._

He feels sick.

"But I'm. Okay. I mentioned you on the radio yesterday. I'm not allowed to do that again." He whispered, swallowing hard. "Or maybe it's more that I'm not allowed to say you were kidnapped. It's foggy."

\----------------------------

 

Carlos grits his teeth and, holding phone up with his shoulder as Cecil talks, rolls up his sleeves and pulls on gloves. Not because he isn't listening to Cecil; but because not only does he need to work, but he _wants_ to work. His work is what keeps him grounded and stable. It keeps him from thinking too much. About how he very highly doubts that Cecil, in all of his emotional fragility and neediness, is 'okay'.

At the mention of talking about him on the radio, Carlos cringes and almost drops the phone. "I don't- ahhh..Cecil, I'm not sure what  _exactly_ they do or don't want you to say. But it's probably better you not mention me at all. Just for good measure.."

\--------------------------

"They can _suck my dick_." And there it is again; the cursing. Cecil is furious; a fury that ebs and flows like a tide. Cecil cries. He cries a lot, over just about anything. He cries when he's happy, when he's angry, when he's sad, when he's hurt. People take that for weakness; over-emotional softness.

They're wrong. Just because Cecil's body reacts in a certain way doesn't mean anything. Crying, in Cecil, is simply a reaction to a passionate emotion.

And anger is a passionate emotion. He may be in tears, but that doesn't mean he's any less ready to leap down someone's throat. Or leap  _for_ . Cecil is more volatile and more dangerous then most people assume.  "They have  _you_ . They have the  _love of my life_ . They can deal with my  _commentary_ ." A low whimper, then.

No. Not 'okay' at all.

\-------------------------

Carlos is tired. He wore himself out crying all last night. His eyes are dry, but his mouth is set in a hard line, and his posture is slumped. How is he supposed to walk a line so thin that he can barely see it anymore?

"They can't deal with your commentary," he mutters, able to visualize Cecil's anger-contorted face just as clearly as if he was standing right there. Beaker clinks against flask. "For both of our sakes. Please. Cecil."

\-------------------------

_Please, Cecil_. That's all it takes; all it's ever taken. _Please, Cecil_. Carlos can ask anything of Cecil- anything, could ask him to grab the moon from the sky and Cecil would _try_. He closes his eyes and pictures Carlos, in front of him, all soft lines and soft skin and gentle grey in his ebony hair, his eyes worried and tired and hurt and his mouth set and firm. Can see him- can hear him- can't touch him.

He knots a hand in his short blonde hair, eyes squeezed shut. "Right.  _Behave, Cecil, bark like a good dog, Cecil_ ." Snapped, and his anger isn't directed and Carlos but Carlos is the only target.  It's a  reminder that, however cheerful he sounds on the radio, Cecil knows the bull he spews is bull.  For the most part, anyway- it's funny, what Cecil seems to honestly agree with and believe, and what makes him roll his eyes when he hears his own voice on recordings, or someone mentions something he's said.

The  _feral dogs are really just plastic bags_ thing is something that, to this day, makes him sneer.

\----------------------------

The rage in the voice is misdirected, but Carlos can understand why. He's not offended. He knows how infuriating this must be for Cecil, who has no idea of the full depth of what he's dealing with, or of how truly severe the consequences could be.

He passes the flask from one hand to the other, and bends down over the table to read something from the file.

"..Yeah," he says, quietly, voice strained. "That." For once he _can't_ laugh and tell Cecil that he's being over-dramatic because, this time, he _isn't_ .

\------------------------------

And when he doesn't- when he doesn't tell Cecil to tone it down, to stop being silly, Cecil _knows_. And there is silence so heavy and so total it's terrifying. Then, much more softly- "Oh." In a way that says he sees, and he drops into a chair. Swallows hard. "Okay." Very quietly, because the true weight of the situation has just smacked him in the face and he _still_ doesn't get all of it. Presses  a hand to his temple hard. Sighs heavy and low. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I just- haven't been- sleeping and it's-" A hard thud. It sounds like Cecil may have  just dropped his head to the table.

"Carlos," He whispers, after a minute, after a long silence. "You said 'for both our sakes'." Something weird, something that twigs  _wrong_ in a reporter's instinct. Something about the phrasing that rings  off. "What do you mean, 'for both our sakes'?"

\------------------------------

Ah. Shit. Had he really said that?

There's more quiet. Only the sound of Carlos's breathing, papers being shuffled,  and then a small exhale as he pushes himself up. "Don't apologize. It's fine." He frowns down at the table. At his work. He's jittering his leg,  foot tapping in a rapid even rhythm. "I just.. all I mean is that it'd obviously be best if they don't get angry. Alright?"

\-----------------------------

More silence. Angry, tense. He knows he's being deflected. Lied to. But- "Alright." Because it's _Carlos_ , and he's trapped and far away and he's _not_ going to make this a fight, he's not. They argue, of course- like every other couple. But Cecil and Carlos have the odd ability to _understand_ each other, and arguments usually ended inside of a day or an hour. It helps that they adored each other; everyone knows of Cecil's near-worship of Carlos, but the more subtle, less obvious devotion Carlos had for his lover is just as strong. So their fights rarely go past a night on the couch or the silent treatment for a day. But rarely is either of them this angry-

and never has the situation been so dangerous. Every word could be the last word, and no matter that he's being lied to, that secrets are being kept, he  _refuses_ to let that happen. "Stop shaking your leg. Relax. Breathe. Carlos, sit down and listen to me." He snaps, but it's a command, not an angry bark. "Just- sit down and relax, for a little while. Let me tell you what's going on in town. Just relax and listen to me. Breathe, close your eyes,  _relax_ . I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm here. Breathe. Relax. Let go." Amazing, how hypnotic he could sound when he chose.

\--------------------------------

Carlos had been holding his breath as the silence drew out. He felt like he needed to fill all of the quiet with something, but, then again, the whole reason for the quietness was that  he _couldn't_ talk any more about it.

Whenever he'd had a panic attack or was worried or anything in the past Cecil always did this. Firm enough but not too much, gentle enough but not too much. It worked better than anything else.

He follows Cecil's instructions, taking deep breaths, running his hands through  his hair to push the mess out of his face, trying to keep his legs still.

"Tell me, tell me anything," he whispers into the phone, almost desperately.

\-------------------------------

"Dana came again today. She's been coming more and more often. She's almost back totally." Lazy, laconic, his own eyes close and he forces himself into that mental place that lets him speak with smooth, even tones, speak as though he doesn't want to _scream_. "It's impressive, really. I don't think anyone else learned to manipulate the places she goes the way she did. Maybe she'll always be able to go back and forth now. Wouldn't that be incredible?" It's pointless. It's frivolous. It's what Carlos needs to hear. "Khoshekh is doing well. He's been sleeping where you usually do, though, so I'll have to wash the sheets and blankets before you stay the night next time. I think he may have claimed the, uh, well, the entire _bedroom_. I had to spend twenty minutes trying to get him off the bathroom ceiling last night." A soft laugh, real and fond. Talking about nothing. Nothing important at all.

Not saying  _what are you hiding and what won't you tell me. Not saying I am falling apart and I am so, so scared_ . "And- oh, there's a lake now- it showed up yesterday, too-" And so on it went. Steady, constant rumble of words, a flow of soft, meaningless, just to let Carlos hear him. Let his voice wash over his lover and sooth, comfort- something familiar, something loved.

The tears that ran down his face didn't ring in his voice at all.

\-----------------------------

All of the tension in Carlos's face begins to  ease away as Cecil's familiar deep melodious voice washes over him. Carlos rocks a little in his seat as he listens and despite all of his emotions and longing, he can't help but smile softly.

He lets Cecil keep talking on and on because he'd never want to interrupt him. If he could just spend the rest of his life listening to this voice...he'd take that offer instantaneously.

He says nothing until Cecil seems to draw his speech about nothing and everything to what seems to be a close. "Thanks," he murmurs, with the most genuine gratitude that he's expressed in the longest time.

\--------------------------

"Of course, my Carlos." Soft and sweet, with concern and love rich in his voice. It's still the low, rich tones he uses on the radio- but pitching up slightly more now. An odd mix of his natural voice and the radio exaggeration. He smiles despite the situation; smiles because he has soothed his Carlos, has stopped him from being frightened and upset, Smiles because he has always loved what his voice does to Carlos, loves how good he can make him feel just with a few, slow, sweet words. "Better now?"

Even he feels better; calmer, more in control, more together. "You are so beautiful." He can't help but add, softly, eyes closed. "So beautiful. God, Carlos, I miss you. I want you here, in my arms, where I can whisper  _perfect, beautiful, mine_ in your hair and kiss every inch of you and hold you- touch you-" It's not just lust in his voice, though that's there, too- it's been weeks- but simple  _longing_ .

It's been so very long since he's just been able to curl up against Carlos's chest and sleep.

\-------------------------

Carlos nods, and it takes him a minute to remember that they're talking on the phone and nods aren't audible. "It helps," he says quietly. "It makes me feel like everything is normal. Like I'm back home. Like you're with me."

He tilts his head back and can't help the flush that creeps up his neck when Cecil tells him more lovely things. He wishes he had more of a way with words so that he could express his own desires in return, but he doesn't know how. At a glance their relationship may seem one-sided, as Carlos's affection is far more subtle, and that is why he'd end up feeling selfish if he admitted that,  _yes_ , that is  _exactly_ what he wants.

"I think about that all the time," he says instead. "I -it's the little things, too. I want to watch government-mandated TV with you while cuddling on the couch. I want to watch your smile and hear your laugh. I want to cook for you."

\---------------------------

And there is that laugh; sweet and rolling, like molasses, though it's edged with pain. "I want those things, too. I miss dancing with you." He continues the line of thought, leaning back gently in his chair. Remembers swaying to old, slow big bang hits and Carlos's dismayed, confused looks at the more playful, spastic dancing Cecil would sometimes display, rocking into the living room or kitchen with a grace that ended when he tripped on something. "I miss your cooking, too. I can't- I burn _water_ , Carlos, you know that. Literally." Because only in Night Vale _could_ you literally burn water. He still remembered Carlos's face when he showed him. "But more than that, I miss hearing you whistle and hum in the kitchen. I miss bothering you while you cook or work and you trying so hard to look upset at me. I miss laying in bed just talking to you for hours." He's smiling, but he's crying, too; soft, bitter-sweet tears.

Carlos doesn't say things like  _you are beautiful and perfect_ , but when he says _I want to hear your laugh_ Cecil hears what he means. "I want to take walks with you again. And help you in the lab. And listen to you explain all the things that never had an explanation before, Carlos. Want to see your beautiful, shy little smile, like you can't believe it's you I'm talking about when I talk about you. That's- precious, Carlos, the look on your face sometimes and the way you look at me- like I'm something amazing and rare-" He chokes, slightly. "Or when you find something new, figure something out, and your face lights up, your eyes light up, you come _alive_ ." He presses a hand into his forehead, sighs wetly. "You know what I miss most is just- having you. Being able to know that if I look, you're there. In my life. Beside me. I want you there always, Carlos. Always. Forever."

\-------------------------------

He has to close his eyes again and force himself to take deep breaths to stop from entirely breaking down. For some reason Cecil's sweet sentiments make him even sadder than the lonely ones. Maybe it's because they remind him of how much he wants everything, _anything_ , as long as his partner is there too. He laughs, softly, haltingly, because the longing is physically manifesting himself as a deep throbbing ache throughout his body that could only possibly be eased by just that one person.

Carlos makes a quiet whimpering sound against his own will, which he tries to muffle with the sleeve of his lab-coat but only half manages.

"Y-you  _are_ amazing and rare, you're the only one of you," he manages to say, curling his fingers into his hair. "I need- oh, God, Cecil. I need that. I need to be there with you, always, and I swear that when I get back I- I-"

\-------------------------------

"That's right you will." He laughs again through tears, and the sound of Carlos _whimpering_ , that tiny sound of hurt, makes his soul ache with desire to grab him and hold him in his arms. To curl against his chest, to hold him and whisper reassurances and loving words, to take away all that pain, take it _away_ and protect his darling Carlos, make him do nothing but smile, nothing but laugh. "Shh, shh, please don't- oh, Carlos, please don't- it's okay. I love you, I love you, it's ok." Funny, that he's the one soothing Carlos; Carlos, who is usually the stronger and more emotionally steady of the two. Carlos, who is usually the one  who holds and soothes. Cecil is more emotionally needy, more fragile. But here they are, roles reversed, and Cecil wants so badly to pet his hair, stroke his face.

"That sounds- sounds like a proposal." He teases, weakly, and it's mostly teasing but partly series. He wants to marry Carlos. Wants to keep him by his side forever. No matter where he goes, Cecil wants to be there, too. Home was Night Vale, so long ago; but now home was a beautiful scientist with wild dark hair and soft caramel skin, with huge calm eyes and a lop-sided grin, a beautiful soothing voice and a soft, strong touch.

Home was  _Carlos_ .

And the thought of being his-  _belonging to Carlos_ , really, fully- it's all he wants in life.

\-------------------------------

Carlos feels ashamed, and again he gives a bittersweet laugh, because he's definitely thought about marriage - he has been thinking about it for quite some time now - but this isn't at all the way in which he wanted to bring it up.

He wants to propose while they're laying side beside and watching the stars and the void twisting through the sky above them, or maybe while they're out to dinner, or looking up at the lights above the Arby's as they had that night back then. Or maybe even while Cecil was on the air, with the entirety of the town listening in.

Not now. Not with this much distance between them. But now that he's started he can't really stop, right?

"It's a - it's a proposal if you  _want_ it to be?" he finally says, haltingly, "I mean, I'd, I- Cecil, you're- I'd love to. If you wanted to." He meant for it to come out teasing, like Cecil's statement, but it doesn't. He's serious about it, and so his voice comes out serious. And a little unsteady with embarrassment.

\-------------------------------

"Oh, _Carlos_." He chokes up for another reason entirely, now, hand covers his mouth and a dull, broken little sob but when he speaks he's smiling. "Beautiful, perfect, wonderful Carlos. _Silly_ Carlos. Like you even have to ask." He whispers, trembling, head to toe, shaking hard. "Like there's a chance I'd ever say no." And he should be happy. He should be on the radio, dammit, cooing into the mic _oh, listeners, joy, rapture, Carlos  proposed_ \- He should be dancing with Dana, spinning her in circles and laughing. Should be among friends, family, loved ones, people  who love them both.  He should be in _Carlos's arms_ , pulled flush to his body, arms around his neck, grinning at each other like fools and staring into each other's eyes.

This is so wrong. It's so wrong, and so, quietly, softly- "But I'm not saying yes, either, okay?" With a shaking but firm voice. "I'm not saying yes. I'm keeping you to that proposal, and when you get back to me you're doing it  _right_ . Breaking out all the stops to make this up to me, do you hear me?" He laughs, the sound half a sob. Carlos wants to be his husband. Carlos wants to marry him.  _Carlos wants to marry him_ . "Carlos wants to marry me." This time it's out loud, and damn if Cecil doesn't sound awe-struck despite everything. Despite his teasing, his play, he sounds like he is dazed and amazed, and Cecil has never, not once, thought of himself as worth Carlos. Somehow. For some reason. "God, I- don't even know how I'm supposed to feel right now. I want to be happy. I do. I want to be  _overjoyed_ but all I can think is- you're not- you're- you-"

\----------------------------

He starts to slump down in his chair at the pained happiness in Cecil's voice. Brow furrowing but lips quirking up, the muscles in his face unsure of how to keep up with his roiling torrent of emotions. He presses one hand over his face- "Don't feel overjoyed," he said quickly. "Not yet." Noticing how odd that sounded and mentally cursing himself, he tries again. "I- I mean, I want you to be happy, understand? But I want to be there when it's time for you to feel _overjoyed_. And when I propose, I want it to be _great_ , and I want to be able to feel overjoyed _with you right there_."

He needs to be working. They're watching him, he knows they are. Carlos fumbles with his lab materials in an attempt to look busy. "Feel free to keep me to that," he laugh-cries, "I'm going to propose and I'm going to make it something worth remembering."

\---------------------------

And Cecil hears it. He catches it because he catches everything when he's actually paying attention and focused, when he calms down and settles down and puts his mind to figuring something out. He sucks in a breath, going still for a long moment. It's not even so much the _words_  as they _way_  they're said, something about them just ringing _off_.  Something about the context, the tone of Carlos's voice.

"Of course I'm happy." He replies, softly, though there is something terse and bristling in his voice. Something that says _I know_ , but again- he can't bring himself to _fight_ with Carlos. Not now.  "Of course I'm happy, love. I- there's nothing I want more. Nothing. Nothing, Carlos." Soft, intense. "But to be with you for the rest of our lives. To get- get old with you, and take care of each other, and-"  He swallows. Closes his eyes.

'Why don't you tell me what you've got planned, in that brilliant head of yours?" He whispers, trying not to shake harder. His head hurts, and something is wrong- something is so, so wrong.

And Carlos is lying to him about it.

\--------------------

Listening to Cecil's voice is all that Carlos has been doing since he met him, and so the change in his tone does not go unnoticed. Carlos leaves his work alone for the moment because he is worried and slightly confused, and while he'd love to tell Cecil all about the ideas that he has for when they are reunited - beautiful, lovely things, places that he loves to be and (relative) safety and them together and without any stress or fears - but his concern is currently overriding that wish.

"...Cecil? You don't  _sound_ ...alright, what is going on? Are you okay?" He knows that voice. That's Cecil's frustrated voice; similar to the voice that he uses when Carlos has to spend long nights at the lab, but somehow different.

\------------------------

It's the wrong thing to ask. It's the wrong thing to ask and the wrong time to ask it. The sound that he lets out is mostly sob, half laugh, and frustrated growl all at once. "Nothing is _alright_." He bites out, tersely and low, and his voice trembles like he's trying so hard to keep the emotion at bay.  "You're- you're miles away from me, being _kept_  away from me by - by people who have the ethics of a rabid wolf- you're _gone_  and I'm _alone_  and my head hurts _all the time_ and I- can't- even- say what I want to say right now, not really, because someone is _listening to every word_ , and not even someone I can /trust/ like the usual people who are listening."

A sob, hard and broken, and he tries to muffle it but he can't. "And you're _lying to me_. You're sitting there, where ever you are, and you're- you- you're _hiding_  something from me."  Something that sounds like it might be the phone being dropped. Cecil's voice is muffled- like he's put his face in his arms. "Am I ok. Am I _ok_. No, I'm not _okay_. I'm anything but okay, I'm the _farthest thing from okay_!"

\-----------------------

Carlos clenches his jaw and stares hard at the flask in front of him. The liquid inside is..well, _fizzling_ , sort of, with little tendrils of violet licking up the inside walls of the glass. Normally he'd be fascinated with this sort of thing (How do the laws of physics apply to this substance? What does it respond to?) but at the moment he doesn't care. He barely even registers that it's there. "I shouldn't have- I- I'm sorry," he says, beginning confidently but his voice trailing down as he realizes that not only is Cecil hurt, but he has been completely _set off_ by this.

He needs to stay together. His hands twitch and tremble and fold and unfold because there's nothing that he can do. He is lying because he has to lie, because the truth is so, so much more complicated than Cecil could probably ever imagine. "I'm sorry, I know you're not okay, I'm not either," he breathes, "I'm so sorry," again, unable to answer the accusations.

\---------------------------

"You're sorry." Sobbed out. "You're _sorry_. Gods _damnit_ , Carlos!" Something breaks. Is knocked off the table, hits the floor with a shatter. Cecil is instantly swearing, a string of profanity that sounds mostly aimed at himself, the sound of someone trying to stop crying. "Stop being _sorry_ , stop _lying_  to me and stop being _there_  and come _home_." His voice is distant- he's picking something up, from the sound of it.  Sniffle, and then picking up the phone again.

"This isn't- I can't- shit. I'm bl- hold on. Just- I need to- I can't- talk to you- I can't- I -" Broken, the sound of him sitting down hard. "No, ignore that, ignore me, don't hang up please don't hang up Carlos-"  Because he is angry. He is furious that he's being lied to, that something is happening he doesn't understand and isn't allowed to. And it's _Carlos_ \- Carlos, caught up in something, and he can't _help_. But no matter how angry he is, the thought of Carlos _not talking to him_ \- the idea of the man hanging up, of maybe not being there next time- terrifies him.

\-------------------------

Carlos wants to yell, to scream, to curse, to tell Cecil anything and everything and to not have to lie. He wants to slam the things off the table like Cecil does. But that's not who Carlos is. Carlos is the quiet one, the one who keeps himself together in order to hold and contain his lover's powerful emotions. He can't let it all out because if they both were acting like that then who knew what would end up happening.

"I'm- Cecil, I'm going nowhere." A quiet reassurance, but at least it is something. "I'm not hanging up. And you have every right to be angry or to have any emotion, I'm not hanging up just because your emotions  _exist_ ."

\----------------------

Pause. One rasping breath, two, a third that is held and slowly let out. For the second time, the soft sound of Cecil's tears. There is nothing else for a while, then, shakily- "I'm sorry. I love you."  He always has been this way, fluid in what he feels, like a tempest. Cecil is a production more than a person. He is vibrant and outgoing, loud and playful and silly; he is prone to ignoring personal space, sings loudly and off key without caring who's listening,  He rolls from anger to happiness, sadness to amusement in the span of breaths. Even when he isn't under stress, he's that way; someone who gets swept up in the emotion and lets it carry him away. Someone who _acts_  and _reacts_ , who feels before he thinks.

And 'I love you' has always been Cecil's way of apologizing, or accepting apology.  A reminder, for both of them. "I just- I."  He lets out a weak little sob. "I'm just. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't."

\----------------------

"I love you too," Carlos replies, and his voice comes out gentle but unwavering. Despite all that is grey and blurry in their lives at the moment, this is one thing that the scientist is _positive_ of. He loves Cecil. Nothing is going to change that, not lies, or secrets, or even StrexCorp.

Usually he was able to provide Cecil with a firm solution. He'd come to him in tears with some problem or another, and Carlos would give him the most logical and efficient step-by-step solution. But this? "I..wish I knew what to tell you."

\------------------------

"I know." And he does. No matter what, he knows Carlos loves him. He is at the end of his rope, exhausted and confused and in pain, but that is _still_ the one thing he doesn't doubt. Carlos loves him. He wants to curl up in Carlos's arms. Wants to rest against him and just know he's there, wants to be held and comforted. Wants Carlos to wipe his tears away and smile and sooth him with that calm tone, or simply take him in a hug, tight and ferocious, like after Fay. after the Auction, after the tapes- simply take him in a warm  bear hug and _it's okay. Shh, shh, I'm here_ , and let Cecil weep into his shoulder or simply remind him that he is Cecil Palmer and he is real and loved and sane and here.

Because sometimes he's not sure who he is, or what, and sometimes at night in the dark or when he lets his guard down there is a crushing nameless fear, something he doesn't understand but leaves him shivering and sick. When he's alone, he calls Carlos, who sometimes is grumpy about being awakened or interrupted but the moment he hears Cecil, hears that fear and the near-tears, is instantly all concern and love.

When he's not alone, he simply rolls over and presses his face into Carlos's chest,  or goes and finds him and wraps him backwards in a hug, and Carlos murmurs sleepily and snores a little or startles and then laughs and sways from side to side  and the fear is chased away by warm content.

And oh God, he needs that now.

"Tell me," He whispers, still tearfully, "that everything is fine. And that you're here.  And that you'll be home soon. Tell me we're fine, and safe, and nothing's wrong.  If you're going to lie? At least make them good ones."

\--------------------------

Of course Cecil knows - he always seems to. Amazingly and luckily. Carlos is used to people misreading him, judging his hesitance to express strong emotions as a lack of passion or a lack of care, or even as a lack of humanity (figuratively-speaking). And yet Cecil, it seems, doesn't seem to jump to those sorts of conclusions. Carlos is glad and relieved that without needing to say it aloud, the man knows how much he means to him.

When they're together Carlos can express how much he cares with more actions than words. He can stroke and kiss and hold Cecil until every insecurity drains out of him. But with all of this distance, the scientist feels at a loss. He worries that his caring will get lost somewhere in the distance between them, wandering off into the sand-wastes to die of exposure and dehydration.

"Everything isn't fine, but we can  _make_ it fine," Carlos says, leaning back in his chair and speaking in a gentle voice, "But we are fine, Cecil. I'll come home soon as possible. We're fine, we're safe if we follow- oh  _God, Cecil_ , do you understand what you're asking?" The words waver, lost. "This is really difficult. I want to tell y-you that everything is perfect, but that is so  _not right_ . It's as good as it can be in this situation, and everything will be okay, I promise. It'll be okay. We'll go back to normal."

\--------------------------------

Cecil is a reader of people. He is a reporter, a broadcaster, and investigator. He sees _through_  and beyond, and has never found Carlos to be anything but utterly beautiful and utterly loving. His quietness, his soft-spoken mild personality is the perfect off-set to Cecil's own intensity, and he loves it. Loves how it soothes him, how /Carlos/ soothes him. He doesn't need grand gestures and declarations of adoration.

He knew Carlos loved him the moment he touched his knee, so softly, in front of that Arby's, under the lights and the stars and the void, on his car. Carlos said it, and Cecil heard it. And Cecil heard every word since.

Except for now, it seems. Now, when Cecil isn't hearing or maybe isn't _listening_. He closes his eyes and lets Carlos's lies wash over him, and for a moment he _almost_ believes him until Carlos breaks it rudely and the illusion falls.

"I know," He whimpers, "that it's _not right_.  I know, Carlos. I _know_ , because I can't- find you and I can't _do_  anything and-" Shudder. Inhale that catches in his throat and comes out as a hard cough. There is a screeching wail in the background, and he winces. "I think I need to feed the cat." it's an odd change of subject, but the subject needs to be changed.

\---------------------------------

Cecil said that he couldn't 'find him'. Did that mean that he was actually literally trying to find him? Hopefully not. He'd better not be. Not that Carlos didn't understand _why_ Cecil would want to hunt him down. Just that he was afraid of what would happen....if Cecil actually _succeeded_.

Carlos's entire body shudders. He swallows hard, screwing his eyes shut painfully tight.

He says softly "...You should go feed him, Cecil."

\---------------------------------

Of course he was.

Of course he was, because he was _Cecil_ , and he was a reporter and he was curious and he was scared; and he wanted to know.

Carlos speaks, then, and Cecil feels his entire body go cold. He's being dismissed. This is Carlos saying good-night, goodbye, and he pulls in a shuddering breath. He feels cold. He hurts. He feels _sick_.

"Okay." He whispers, swallowing hard. "I, uh- I love you." Sniffle, arm brushing over his eyes. "I love you. I'll talk to you tomorrow, ok? Please stay safe, my Carlos. Please be well." Because no matter what, arguments, lies, hurt- that's the most important thing. That Carlos is _unhurt_ and can come back to him.

\-----------------------------

Carlos chokes a little. He knows just how cold he sounded, how harsh, and he knew how it would effect Cecil. God. What kind of terrible person _is_ he?!

The kind of terrible person who wants his boyfriend to busy himself with things that won't make him so sad, apparently.

He clears his throat. "I love you too. Cecil. So much. Try to find things to be happy about. For me. I know you have things in your life to be happy about, I don't want to darken all of them. Okay?"

\-----------------------------

A dark laugh is offered in return; so wrong, so broken, so _different_ from Cecil's normal carefree, playful near giggle, or his rolling, amused chuckle. This is a sound that is- as before- nearly a sob.  A broken and jagged laugh, like glass shattered on the floor. Like whatever Cecil broke.

 _Cecil_  is breaking.

"How. The hell. Am  I supposed to be happy." He replies, tersely. He's rummaging for the cat's food; the beast's purr, or what passes for it's purr, can be heard even over the phone.  Another pause. "I know you do. I do know, even when I- I will always know." Reassuring again, abruptly. "No matter what we say, or do, no matter what happens, I will _always know that_ , Carlos. Don't ever- don't ever worry that I don't know that." A sniff. It's almost possible to see the broken, hurting little smile.

\------------------------

Carlos feels as though every edge of that shattered laugh is digging into his skin.

Razor-sharp, they are, and small enough that he can't easily get them out. He winces every time the laugh takes an upswing and so by the time that Cecil speaks, finally, Carlos's forehead is heavy against the cold metal of the table and he's hunched over as though trying to protect his vital organs.

"Cecil. Just." His voice is quiet, pleading. "Physically  _and_  mentally. Just- take care of yourself."

\-------------------------

Carlos is struggling. Cecil can hear it; can tell from his lover's tone that he is coming apart and wishes, with all his heart, that he cared more. Because all his concern and worry and love is slowly turning into anger and hurt, blackening and rotting away inside him. Carlos is lying, is missing and lying and Cecil can't find him, can't help, is useless and bitter and-

"Goodbye, Carlos." He's surprised by his own voice, by the cold tone, by the way he sounds like someone who just doesn't care anymore. It's not true. It's not true at all, but he sounds like it. "I love you."

And then he hangs up before Carlos can reply. He needs to feed the cat.

And then he needs to go visit Carlos's lab.

\-----------------------

He hears the 'click' before he has a chance to reply.

Very carefully, slowly, as though he might break it (because he definitely _might_ with the sheer volume of the emotions coursing through his body, who knows), he lowers the phone and slips it back into his pocket.

In all the time he's known Cecil, he's seen the man go through a bewildering range of emotions. From pure fury to gentle kindness within seconds, from highest high to the lowest low without easily-discernible reason.

But he has never -  _never_ \- heard that tone of voice come from him before. And he doesn't know what to make of it.

And so he works because he needs something to help him try to ignore the storm of worries and insecurities and hurt in his head. Because while he does indeed love science, it is also his security blanket, and in times such as these it is the one thing that he knows can always remain a constant in his life.

**\-------------------------**


	4. [ EMAIL ]

 

**From: CGP@NVCR.rr.com**

**To: Carlos**

**Subj:  We need to talk.**

 

If I'm right- and I'm pretty positive I'm right- there should be exactly two people who see this. You and I.  If I'm wrong and not as good as I _think_ I am, then I'm sorry. But I've always been a good hacker. Always good to have an ace up your sleeve, right? Here's a tip; I could have shut Fae down.

Of course, then I'd probably have my head on a silver platter, so I wasn't just pretending to be upset about that. Besides, she deserves a chance, right? But this e-mail isn't about a self-aware numbers station.

Carlos, I don't know what the hell is going on over there but whatever it is, I have the right to know. I was followed yesterday. They don't know I know. And I listened to my own broadcast last week; anything. _Anything_ I said about you was censored, and Linda told me if I mentioned you again-

She told me you don't exist anymore, Carlos. I can't- talk. On the phone. I think I'd start screaming and not be able to stop.  I am so. Angry. And I'm scared. And.

I need to see you. God, I need to see you. I need to make sure you're not- you _do_  exist. You're real and alive and fine, and I need to see you. I need to see you I need to see you I-

Stop it, Cecil.

Still getting headaches.

I cornered one of your interns last night. Apparently I can be scary when I want to be. Like when my boyfriend is kidnapped and my entire world is falling down around my ears.  I know where you are. I know who has you. I just don't know what the hELL IS GOING ON. And It's NOT fa

I need to talk to you. Face to face. Soon.

 

\---------------------------

 

**From: cmscientist@gmail.com**

** To: Cecil **

** Subj: RE: We need to talk. **

 

As far as I know you're right about that. I'm not positive, but you seem confident and I'll take your word for that.

Oh..

Oh. They're suspicious of you already. That's what happens when you mention me. Or, not even  _that_ , probably just the fact that you're acknowledging that I exist at all is setting them on edge.

I swear to God, Cecil, if you show up here then - everything would get so, so much worse. Don't get me wrong; I understand. I know why you want to come. I know why you want to see me. But you, of all people, the very reporter who has been talking about them since they took over, should _know just how dangerous they are_ . I don't want to think about what they'd do if they found y-

I don;t know how we could meet face to face. I really, truly don't. Is there some strategy that you have in mind? Because it had better be an incredible one, because I don't want to end up.. you know. Or you, either. And, believe me, they have eyes  _everywhere_ .

 

\------------------------

 

**From: CGP@NVCR.rr.com**

**To: Carlos**

**Subj: RE: RE: We need to talk.**

 

I know. Jesus Christ, Carlos, I'm not stupid, alright? Yes, sometimes I- I 'm not actually stupid.  They are dangerous. They are so, so dangerous and powerful and I am hiding someplace safe and praying this isn't being intercepted and I don't step outside to a gun in my face.

 _I know_.

People who stop existing here _stop existing_. And I won't let that happen to you. I won't. I will. Not. They can do whatever they want to me but I am _not_ going to let you just become another thing we don't mention in Night Vale. Another unfortunate- I'm not going to do that.

Words are all I have, Carlos. Okay? I have words, and I know how to use them and where and so help me God, I will use them. I might not be out there inciting rebellion but I will fight them tooth and nail the only way I know how. So let them be on edge. Let them fucking follow me and threaten me and- I don't care.

I will NOT let you go.

I don't. I don't have a plan. Christ, I

Look. if we can't meet face to face, then chat me again. I just need to SEE YOU. ok? that's all. that's it. I. need. to. see. you.  

 

\----------------------------

 

**From: cmscientist@gmail.com**

**To: Cecil**

**Subj: RE...: We need to talk.**

 

There is so much that I want to say right now but I don't know how.

I'm terrified for you.

I'm not going to disappear. I mean, I disappeared from Night Valeian society, apparently? But I'm not going to disappear for real. Like. I won't stop existing. I promise. They may be powerful and threatening but if they wanted to to end me then I think they would have by now, right?

Yes. Yes, we can chat. Assuming that your location is secure enough, I mean, as the online connection could theoretically be traced by...

...ignore me, I just don't want any slip-ups. I'm sorry. A chat would be really good.

 

\--------------------------------

 

**From: CGP@NVCR.rr.com**

**To: Carlos**

**Subj: Re…: We need to talk.**

You don't know that. Things work differently here-you know that by now. And it's Strex.  God knows what they'll do or why. So don't assume things. Just. Don't.

You're terrified.   _You're_  terrified. Carlos, you're being held by _Strex_. I'm _panicking_. I'm going out of my _mind_. I can't sleep because I keep dreaming you dead. I can't eat. I can't -

Yeah. I could be traced. I. Don't.  Care. I just. I can't do this anymore.

Look. I'm good at this. I promise. I'll be careful. I'll be so careful.  I love you. No matter what.

 

\-----------------------------

**From: cmscientist@gmail.com**

**To: Cecil**

**Subj: RE...: We need to talk.**

I love you too, Cecil. Always. And Strex can do nothing to change that.

Ready to chat when you are.

 

\-----------------------------

 


	5. [ VIDEO CHAT ]

 

It is a full two days before word comes from Cecil again. Two days before an email with a simple time and date; and that time on that date Cecil is waiting on video chat.

He is all stress lines and tied eyes; his normal smile is missing. His glasses are off, a sign he's been rubbing at his face and eyes, hair missed.

"Carlos." He greets,  softly,  exhausted.  "Oh, God." And he simply deflates.

\-------------------------

 

The amount of relief that washes over Carlos when he gets the email with the time and date nearly knocks the breath out of him. He is almost shaking with anticipation from then until the actual time arrives. The adrenaline of excitement / anxiety makes him forget about his aches and pains and nausea.

He wants to say that he was worried when he hadn't gotten a reply for two days, was afraid that something had happened, but Cecil must already know that and either taken it as a given or chosen....not to care. What a weird thought.

Carlos's left cheekbone is a bit puffy, subtle blotches of discolor curving up around  his temple and showing through his dark skin. His lower lip is split and scabbed; it's been a few days. Glasses are on, but slid halfway down his nose, and he doesn't have the motivation to adjust them.

"Cecil, it's.." he starts softly. The corner of his mouth twitches, reflexively wanting to smile at the sight of the reporter but, for some reason, feeling like he might not be allowed to smile right now? "..It's really good to see you."

\-------------------------

 

He looks up again and sees it- sucks in a breath and  abruptly Cecil is _Cecil_ again, hand over his mouth and eyes wide with concerned fear."Oh God. Oh, Carlos. What-what  _happened_ to you? Who hurt -what did -" He makes a tiny,  broken sound, a choked noise in his throat. "Oh, my Carlos,  my dear beautiful- " He closes his eyes.

"How dare they. _How dare they._ How _dare_ they touch you."

\------------------------

 

Carlos hasn't looked in a mirror in ages, and so until he opened up the chat he didn't even know what he looked like. Not great, admittedly.

He waves his hands desperately. "Cecil, I- I- I'm fine, shh. Sh. It was just a dispute. I'm fine, okay? It barely even hurts. I'm alive. That's what matters."

\------------------------

 

"A _dispute_." Quietly,  tersely, and he's trembling hard. "Godsdammit Carlos, you can't -you just do as you're told and behave. And _don't get hurt_. " He takes a shuddering inhale, puts his face in his hands.

"Barely even hurts. God, Carlos. What happened?  I-are you ok? " Voice choked. Broken. Heartbroken.

\-------------------

 

"I'm okay. I'm fine. Shhh, take deep breaths," Carlos insists, because what is most important to him is Cecil's well-being, not his own. "It's not a big deal, Cecil, love, don't freak out over this," insisting becoming more _pleading_ , "I don't want you to be freaking out."

\---------------------

 

"It's -not- _ok_." Gasping,  almost hyperventilating,  slender shoulders heaving with gasped,  struggling inhales. He clutches the sides of his head. "It _is_ a big deal. They hurt you. They _hurt_ you, they beat the shit out of you, God, look at you-" Both hands over his mouth now. "Oh God, sweetheart. I can't -I can't - "

Cecil closes his eyes, folds into his hands, shoulders jerking and trembling. "Carlos." It's barely a whisper. "Carlos. What if next time it's worse?  What if-what-what if you-oh God I can't -"

\-----------------------

 

"Cecil." More firmly, more commanding. " _Cecil_. Sit up, back straight, hands behind your head. Deep breaths. I'm not having you pass out." He's into emotionally-distanced professional mode now. Just for the moment, just until Cecil can put together actual complete sentences.

He leans forward toward the screen, elbows on the table. "I'm here, focus on that."

\----------------------

 

He does as he's told instantly,  because it's Carlos.  He trusts Carlos, he listens to Carlos, Carlos is the one that can break though any panic,  can calm him down. Carlos is his rock, his safe place, and he obeys blindly. He manages one deep breath, wheezes,  does it again and this time the exhale is stronger. Again. Again.

"What if they go too far?  What if next time they really hurt you, Carlos -" Gasp. Eyes closed, forces a deep breath.

"Talk to me." Its usually Cecil who does that-who uses his voice, his beautiful soothing voice, to calm Carlos. But now he needs to hear his lover.

\------------------------

 

Carlos watches Cecil intently on the screen, watches him follow the orders and begin to calm down (at least enough that he wasn't hyperventilating), and is relieved that Cecil is doing _this_ instead of yelling and screaming and breaking things.

"Do you know," he says softly, "that no matter how invested I am in the science that I am doing, you are always on my mind?  Cecil? Just because I'm working on things never means that you're not my first priority.  And I don't just mean here- I mean back home, too. You're fascinating a-and yes, you're _beautiful_ , and I'd do anything within my power for your sake."

\-----------------------

 

Cecil closes his eyes and listens ; his breathing steadies. Bit by bit, it comes even, and then he does lash out. A nearby glass goes flying, and he lets out a tight, strangled sound.

"How many times.  How often have they hurt you?" Rough inhale, fingers knotted in his hair. "I swear to God I will kill them."

It's easy to forget,  that Cecil can be frightening. When his loved ones come under attack, he turns into a pit bull ; hell, when his damn _cat_ was hurt he'd broken the door on Carlos's bedroom. Nearly ripped the thing that attacked apart himself.

"I swear to _fucking_ God, Carlos." But then he softens, takes a breath and lets it out slow. "I know. I know you would. I know you do. I love you. I love you." Slow inhale. Soft smile. "You think I'm beautiful? " laugh.  Calming down.

\----------------------------

 

"Once," Carlos replied quietly. "Well- twice, sort of, but the other time was my fault for panicking and then tripping over something." He gives a small smile, with a sort of pained happiness in it. "I know you want to kill them. You're furious and protective. I'm not doubting that in the least."

Seeing Cecil looking - just for a moment - almost like he did before warmed Carlos's heart. "Of course I do. I think that because you  _are_ ." He can't help but add, "And your smile just makes you even  _more_ so."

\----------------------------

 

And Cecil blushes,  faintly, smiles his shy,  crooked smile. Even with glasses, he is; all delicate slender frame and big expressive eyes and that soft blonde hair and a smile that lights up his face. And utterly unaware of any of it.

He brushes a hand through his hair self consciously , settles back in the seat again,  still blushing. Even now he can't help but be pleased his Carlos finds him beautiful. Thinks of him so dearly.

"All I want you to do is come home." But it's a tiny whisper. "Nothing else in the world."

\---------------------------

 

What can he do? Nothing, honestly. The StrexCorp executives hold both he and Cecil's fragile lives in their fists.

Cecil, looking the same sort of happy shyness as he had around Carlos so many other times, makes the scientist want to reach through the screen and draw him close.

"I know," he murmurs instead, because science and physics don't allow for things like trans-laptop teleportation. "I wish I was home right now."

\----------------------------

 

He takes a breath, and when he sits up and looks up again the shy, blushing sweetness is gone. That hard look is back on his face, in his eyes- not cruelty, not cold, but _determined_. "Tell me." It's the third or fourth time he's asked, but now it's almost more of a _demand_. "Tell me why they took you, Carlos. Why I'm supposed to pretend you don't exist. Tell me why, for the first time, they're acting like I'm a _real_ threat." He takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking.

"I deserve to know _why_. I have the _right_ to know that much. And  Carlos, if you don't tell me-" _I will find out._

He's already cornered one of the interns. It's not a huge leap to think of Cecil pushing and pushing until he breaks through the wall standing between him and what he wants. "They _hurt_ you Carlos. Badly. I can't sit on my hands and do nothing while I know you're being hurt."

\----------------------------

 

Carlos swallows hard.

He knows that there are _very_ firm rules on who can know about his status in regards to StrexCorp; they've made that very clear from day one.

But Cecil demands answers, and he won't rest until he has some.

Which leaves him with no other choice but to tell Cecil about the _other_ part of the story.

There's a long silence. "They," he begins, voice low and soft, "stopped by the house, cornered me, before you got home from work. They wanted me to sign something 'just as a little courtesy'. Th-" his voice catches and for a moment, Carlos looks down, worry-lines between his brows evident, not sure if he can continue. This story, while with a few minor alterations, was almost entirely true, and it _hurt_. "They wanted to _take_ you, Cecil."

\----------------------------

 

"Me." The word is flat and dull, and he stares, uncomprehending. Because Cecil doesn't see himself as anything unusual. May not- probably doesn't- even know there _is_ anything unusual about himself. There are things Cecil doesn't know about himself- doesn't _remember_ about himself. It's all too clear a memory, the day Cecil innocently dug up old tapes from his childhood and wound up in Carlos's arms later suffering a breakdown.

And it's obvious that he's thinking back to that day now. It hits, and his eyes widen, hands clenching on the table. Strex wanted him. Strex wanted _him_ , and he could only imagine all the 'whys', and Carlos had-

Carlos.

Had.

"...you. You. _You_. This is. _My_. Fault?" Tight, voice shaking, hands over his mouth. "This is because of me? They wanted _me_? Carlos why didn't you- you should have- run, called me, let them _take me_ \- God, if it's me they want they can _have me_." He snaps. "Fine. That's. Fine."

\------------------------------

 

"It's- it's not fine," Carlos chokes out, keeping his voice quiet. "It's not fine at all, Cecil. When I'm here all I'm doing is working on research projects for them to keep them happy, but if you were here they'd-"

He can't. He can't do this.

He digs his nails into his palms, the pain of that keeping him focused. "They wanted to do things to you. I can't have them do that. That's- I can't. No."

\--------------------------

 

"Carlos you're being _hurt_ and it's _my fault_!" He stops, hand over his mouth and eyes closed. He thought he'd cried himself out, but apparently not; there are tears streaming down his cheeks. "You're _gone_. You're being kept there and hurt and- and to protect _me_. How am I supposed to accept that?  You know they're never going to be satisfied. Never. _Never_ , Carlos, and they'll keep you there and I'll never- you won't-"

He puts his face in his hands. "I can't- I-"

And then, terrifyingly, the connection cuts off.

\---------------------------

 

 


	6. [ TEXTING ] and Important Decisions

 

He's gone.

 

 _He's gone_.

 

Carlos panics, slamming his laptop shut and  yanking out his phone, barely able to hit the right keys. **[Cecil, don't run. Dno't leave. We can't end the conversatiomn like this. It's not your fault, it;s theirs.]**

 

\-----------------------------

 

 **[they wanted me.]** It's a good ten minutes before the reply comes back, surprisingly more steady-handed then Carlos's own frankly tapped out message. **[they want me. theyr hurting u because of me. not ok.]**

The use of shorthand isn't anything to worry over; the lack of punctuation and smiley faces _is_.  Cecil is all smilies and frownies, kitty faces and hearts. **[lied to me. there cause of me. i cant carlos. i need to breathe. freaking out. need air. need space. cant talk. cant breathe. canthti  cant thinl. think.]**

\-----------------------------

 

Carlos knows how serious things are when he sees the distinct lack of emoticons and excess punctuation. He grimaces. It's so much harder to do this when he can't see Cecil's face or hear his voice.

**[Remember when I told you to breath deply before? Breath deeply now too. I'm not here because of you, I'm here becasue of THEM. I have motivation to keep on going because of you.]**

\------------------------------

 

 **[im sorry i disconnected.]** One can almost hear the tiny, apologetic tone; Cecil always sounds like a kid in trouble when they fight. [kinda lost it.] and then, [love you, too.] Even now.

A few minutes' pause- likely Cecil getting himself under control- and then- **[what did they want me for?]** It seems cold and aloof, and Cecil is asking through a _text_ which seems wrong in and of itself. He's back to demanding answers, but not letting himself see or talk to Carlos. As if, even now, calmer, he's keeping the man at arm's length.

\-------------------------------

 

Carlos thinks for a minute or two about how to put it. He knows all the specifics, but explaining them all to Cecil would probably make him feel ashamed or self conscious. A more general approach would likely be better.

**[You're kind of atypical, as far as human beings go, and they seemed _interested_. They wanted to..well... learn more about your differences. And in science-speak, that means running tests and doing experiments.]** Carlos shudders a little. He hates this because "tests and experiments" have always been words to evoke excitement in him, and so putting them into such a dark context is pretty uncomfortable.

\-------------------------------

 

 **[atypical?]** If it was spoken, it would probably be curious and cautious; normally chipper and a little self-conscious, but Cecil is _off_. Everything in Nightvale is off, weird, strange; being told that he, too, is something out of the ordinary doesn't freak him out as much as it probably should. It's not knowing he's _strange_ that worries him.

It's that _he_  doesn't know it. That Carlos _does_. Strex _does_.

 **[why don't i know that.]** It's typed as if it'd be tersely spoken. **[what the hell happened to me, carlos.]** Because something did, something did and he can't remember and suddenly he _is_ frightened. Wants Carlos's warm embrace and soothing words and calm comfort.

Wishes he hadn't disconnected the chat.

 **[tests. experiments. on me. im ot. i'm not anythin- i'm just me. just cecil. just a reporter and a broadcaster and i've never done- anything- special or- i'm just- me. you promised. you said.]** The day, so long ago, when he'd burst into the lab ranting about not knowing who he was, and Carlos had-

-he had _promised_. You are Cecil Palmer. You are the man I love. He'd said. I promise, you are just Cecil. Nothing to worry about.

**[who am i. what am i. carlos.]**

\-----------------------------------

 

**[You are you. You're Cecil. But you are also who they're interested in.]**

Carlos doesn't know what to sat. He doesn't want to offend Cecil, or worry him more... but to be entirely honest, StrexCorp had only told him a little, and so he didn't even have all of the information that he was being asked for.

** [I..I don't know, alright? I'm sorry. If I knew I'd tell you. Maybe the question of _what you are_ is what they want to figure out? Or maybe it has to do with whatever-it-is that happened? Maybe that 's why they wanted you. I don't know.] **

\-----------------------------------

 

 **[oh. yay.]** Cecil is silent for a long moment. Then- **[I have to go, Carlos.]** and no denying it- he's thinking. He's plotting. The texts are too calm, too coherant and well typed for how upset he was moments before. Cecil is _planning something_ , probably something stupid.

They _have his Carlos._ And as scared as he is and upset as he is, in the end it all loops back to that. They have his Carlos, who is there because of Cecil, and that will not stand.

Carlos, who lied to him.

Who still may be.

But he can't think like that.

\----------------------------------

 

Carlos notices. He notices that change in how Cecil types because he knows by now how to tell what the changes in typing can mean, and what this change is telling him is not something good.

**[Okay. I love you.]**

He sends the text feeling like there is so much more that he has to say - he just has to hope, now, that Cecil can hear and acknowledge what he doesn't say.

\-----------------------------------

 

Too long a pause.

Too long, before, finally- **[i love you, too.]** Because it's one thing he's sure of, in a sea of uncertainty. That he loves his Carlos. That Carlos loves him. That despite lies and whatever he is and whatever is happening, Carlos _does_ love him.

 

-

-

-

-

 

It is nearly a full _week_ before Carlos's phone rings with a text message again, and this time it is bone-chilling.

**[Carlos. Tell your boyfriend to stop asking the wrong questions. We have a contract. ]**

**[Pretty when he's asleep, isn't he? He should get a dog.]**

 

\-------------------------------

 

That week is difficult.

He works, obviously. He gets a lot done and they don't say anything, which most likely means that they are pleased with him. Or at least satisfied. But he works so hard to stop himself from thinking and from _wondering_.

But then his phone vibrates.

He stares at the screen.

Typing is almost painful, and he's not sure whether that's because of the adrenaline or the panic or maybe just because he's weak.

** [If I told him to stop asking the wrong questions, he'd just ask more. I barely said anything to him. I didn't break the contract. This was the only way that I could actually _uphold_ it.] **

And then he reread the second text.

A whole _new_ emotion began to rise up from the depths. It was all that he could do to keep his words from being rude and threatening and _scathing_. The text ended up sounding more pleading.

** [He's more of a cat person. Please. Leave him be.] **

\-------------------------------

**[You mean that thing he's so protective of? He's going to be so sad, isn't he, if it dies after all.]**

**[Oh, Carlos. It's so sweet, how much you love your little broadcaster. Ironic, considering. What will you do when he finds you out,  I wonder. ]**

**[Don't worry about Cecil,Carlos. We're not allowed to hurt _him_. Just scare him off the scent a bit.]**

**[...maybe take away his pretty voice for a few weeks.]**

**[or maybe just show him what happens to the people he loves if he doesn't shut the fuck up.]**

**[Or both. Decisions, decisions.]**

**[Or maybe just tell him. You know.[**

**[Why beautiful, perfect Carlos decided to date him. The real reason.]**

**[You should worry about yourself.]**

\-----------------------------------

 

Carlos makes a low strangled sound. He was standing when he received the barrage of texts, and as his world is thrown off balance he staggers against the wall, sliding down it till the floor ends the descent.

** [I'll do anytinh] **

** [anything, I swear to God.] **

** [dont hurt him don't take away koshekh and don't do anything to his voice ohm yg] **

** [he can't know, he's going to jump to conclusions if he learns, and they'll be the wrong conclusions, /those/ conclusions, I can't h ave that happen] **

\----------------------------------

 

**[Of course he will. He'll think, 'Carlos never loved me.' He'll think 'all those times we _fucked_ , every time he held me, every time he said I love you, he was lying. And he'll die a little, won't he, Carlos? He's so wide-eyed and naive. Trusts you so totally.]**

**[Can you picture it? The look on his face as he begs you to tell him it's not true? Can you picture how he'll cry, Carlos? All that sweet innocence gone.]**

**[Someone who lives in Nightvale, of all places, and he still manages to be so child-like. It would be a lesson in what happens to people who wear their hearts on their sleeves, wouldn't it, Carlos? Teach him not to trust so blindly.]**

**[how much do you love him, Carlos? what will you do for us, to keep me from squeezing that pretty pale throat until there's nothing left of the voice of nightvale but a smoker's rasp?]**

**[what]**

**[will you give us]**

**[to keep him from knowing you used him.]**

\-----------------------------------

 

He shakes. His eyes can barely even focus, the words blurring.

This can't be happening.

It can't be.

** [i didn't use him.] **

He stops and tries to breathe.

** [i- I didn't fucking use him. Stop saying that I used him.] **

He drops the phone, fumbles. Gets it back in his grip.

** [I'll give you anything you want. Anything. Just let him be safe and alive and oblivious, I'll do anything that you ask of me] **

\---------------------------------------

 

**[Damn right you will. Good dog.]**

**[But he's asking the wrong questions.]**

**[Someone has to teach him no means no.]**

**[Like rubbing a dog's nose in shit.]**

**[Don't fight them when they come, Carlos. They won't hurt you too badly.]**

 

 

And then, abruptly, the phone rings.

And rings.

And it is Cecil's number on the ID.

 

 

 

**[Oh, dear. did I forget to mention he'd woken up?]**

 

\---------------------------------------


	7. [ PHONE CALL ] and the Danger of Radio and Cats

 

Carlos wants to crush the phone in his fist.

But he doesn't. Because his rage and pain isn't physical, it's mental, and that just makes it all the worse.

Of course he wouldn't fight them when they came. He already knows that resistance would be futile.

He answers the call and holds the phone to his ear. How does do this, again? He opens his mouth but can't quite remember how to speak. And so he listens.

\----------------------------

 

"Carlos?" The question doesn't sound like Cecil. It's flat and it's dead and it's exhausted, like Cecil has used himself up. He sounds sleepy and groggy, too; Cecil's morning voice. So familiar. That voice, whispering good-mornings; awed by Carlos's very presence beside him.

"-you there? You listening? _Carlos_. Something is wrong. Koshekh isn't acting right and I keep thinking I hear something. I need to-" A pause; in the background, the cat yeowled.

"I need to go to work, but I wanted to call you first. In case."

 

**[ooh, in case. he's not as stupid as he seems.]**

The text comes almost instantly.

\-----------------------------------

 

Carlos chooses to ignore the text, furious .

"Br-" he clears his throat, hearing how rough his own voice sounds. "Bring Koshekh to the animal hospital on your way to work. They can make sure he's okay." He wasn't at all convinced of whether or not it'd be any safer than where Cecil currently had the cat, but it was worth a shot.

"Thanks for... calling me," he adds, meaning it, just for good measure, somehow managing (for once) NOT to totally break down

\-----------------------------------

 

"...Are you ok?" The gentle love and worry comes back, He frowns, and all motion  stops; the sound of him thinking is almost audible. "Of course I called. I only waited because they're- because I thought it might be better to back off of you for a few days. Because I was doing some things and- of course I called. I love you."

He is worried. He is alarmed and worried and alert , and then the sound of him turning-

-and a yelp. A yelp followed by a meaty thud and a "What the _fuck-_ " that is Cecil, someone else crying out in pain and the hissing snarling of his cat.

\------------------------------------

 

" 'Because they're-'? Because _who_? What did they d-"

Carlos jumps to his feet when he hears the abrupt sounds coming from the other side of the phone, although being on his feet instead of sitting down obviously wouldn't be making any difference. Automatically his brain begins to rattle off all possible scenarios, and none of them are in any way good. "Cecil,  _what was_ that, what's happening-?!"

\------------------------------------

 

There is no answer for a long moment; just another cry- this time it's _Cecil_ \- and a thud, and then the scrambling, grappling sound of the phone being grabbed. Yowling in the background, and someone screams.

"I think my cat just killed someone." He sounds dazed, rasping, and he's breathing hard and fast into the phone. "I think he  just - Christ, fucking _Night Vale_ , this fucking _town_ , I _locked my godsdamn door_." Something slams- said door, mostly likely- so hard there's the rattle of something else falling. "I don't know how someone got in. It's Strex, I don't suppose it _matters_ if I-" A deep breath. "Someone grabbed me. Came up out of my closet and grabbed me. Koshekh got all protective, didn't you, _didn't you_ , what a good kitty." And it's slightly eerie, to hear him cooing to his monster of a demon cat _now_.

"I'm so _done_ with this." He adds, after a minute, swallowing hard. His voice is shaking. 

"And now there's a body in my bedroom. There is a body. In my bedroom."

\--------------------------------

 

Carlos begins to pace, limping slightly. This situation is...well, this is something. And it can end in many different ways, but he is not going to let himself go through all of the possibilities because there are too many of those and too little time before _they_ find out.

"Take Koshekh," he hisses into the phone, "and _leave_. Right now, Cecil. Take little to nothing and get out of there as fast as you can. They'll know someone is down and they'll be there any minute."

For the first time in over two weeks, Carlos felt what might actually be considered a flicker of... _hope_ .

\---------------------------------

 

There is a very, very long silence. They are already coming towards Carlos, footsteps hard on the ground, someone barking orders; they had already been on their way, though. They probably know nothing about this- yet. Then, softly.

"I'm _done_ with this. This isn't right. It's _not right_." There's the sound of him tucking the phone between ear and shoulder. "C'mere, Koshi. Come- no, _don't eat that_ -" A hiss, a growl, and the sound of Cecil wrestling him into his cage. He may be Cecil's 'kitty', but the thing is as big as a puma, and frankly dangerous as hell- as just proven. There is a moment's struggle, a couple yelps, and then-

"I love you. I love you, I love you." Cecil, talking fast now. "No matter what, I love you."

\-----------------------------------

 

Carlos glanced sharply over his shoulder. "I - I love you too, I-" _don't fight_ , they'd said. Carlos didn't want to hang up. He was afraid, no, _terrified_ , of what Cecil was going to do or what would happen to him, but there was no more time. "I've always loved you. I- nothing will ever make that change, I, I need to go, Cecil-"

\---------------------------------

 

"I know. I know. I never doubted it and I never will." A shaky exhale. "I'll see you soon." And then click of the phone going off. Click of Cecil hanging up, and it's gone. Cecil's warmth, his love, his _light_ ; cut off with a simple press of a button.

  
-  
-  
-  
-  
  


They find out about the dead agent more quickly than is comfortable. Cecil can't have had time to get far; they find out in less than an hour and spend the next _two_ trying to rip the facts out of Carlos. Literally; they take it in bruises, in bleeding wounds, in a dislocated shoulder. Where did he go?

 

They take his phone away. The laptop, stays, to give him something to entertain himself with and because he needs it,  but it's monitored heavily.

 

Apparently, according to the internet, Cecil Palmer has been missing for three days.  No one's sure where he went or why, but his cat- that _damn_ cat- was found left  outside the lab and brought in by the assistants. It's obvious that he's left Koshekh where he'll be safe.

 

 

Which means he's doing something stupid.

 

-

-

-

-

 

Carlos finds out what a week later, when a swearing Strex agent comes in and hauls him up by the scruff of the neck, spins him around and demands to know what the hell his boyfriend thinks he's dong.

 

And he turns on the radio.

 

And there is Cecil.

 

Clear, strong. Proud.  Voice of Night Vale in full effect, low and rich, each word sharply enunciated and rolling off his tongue like the purr of a cat.

 

He can't be in the studio. Can't be. But Cecil has proven more then once that he doesn't need to be.

 

"-more innuendo, shady double ententes, passive-aggressive jabs. Listeners, the time for playing nice and hiding our heads in the sand is gone. There is much in this town that you might say is wrong. There is much that some people might say should not be happening. I don't care. This is not about Night Vale. This is about protecting Night Vale. Agree or do not, this is your home. This is my home. And StrexCorp wants to destroy it. Destroy you. I have seen what they offer, listeners. I have seen what they will do. And in taking the one thing that I hold dear more then anything in this world, they have made a very grievous error. They have chosen a battle with a gentle man."

\-------------------------------

 

Every last drop of hope drains from Carlos's body. He feels a sinking weight in the pit of his stomach. Disappearing from any findable locations had been a fantastic move, but this?

What the fuck what _this_?

"He's- I-I-I-" Carlos stammers in a breathy whisper, legitimately horrified. "I need to call him, t-to stop him."

\-----------------------------

 

"Stop him. _Stop him_. Don't worry about that." A nasty smile. "We'll stop him. It seems your little broadcaster fancies himself part of a non-existent rebellion." He pulls Carlos up and in, leans in to whisper in his ear. " I think," He whispers, "that our smiling God is calling _bring him here_." A savage snarl, and then a phone is pressed into Carlos's hand.

"You are going to call him, Carlos. and you are going to keep him talking."

Of course. They want to trace the call.

 

On the radio, whatever Cecil was saying has come to a close; the radio has gone to white noise.

\-------------------------

 

Another time, another place, and Carlos might've felt proud of the broadcaster for standing up for his own beliefs. But this, as it turned out, was neither the right time, right place, or _definitely not_ the right organization to be rebelling against.

He looked down at the phone.

 

Was the right decision to use the call to warn Cecil, but then both of them having to face the mighty wrath of StrexCorp?

Or should he just do what they wanted, and hope that they wouldn't to anything _worse_ to Cecil and himself?

 

The glare that he is receiving is definitely looking homicidal; his time is up. 

 

Carlos dials Cecil's number.

\----------------------------

 


	8. [ PHONE CALL ] and Lies... Exposed.

Cecil answers on the third ring.

" _Carlos_? Where have you been?" The confident, velvety tones are gone, and he sounds desperate and afraid. "I've been calling and texting and nothing I do gets through, I can't- you just fell off the face of the planet again and what have they been doing  to you-"  He puts a hand over his mouth and his voice trembles.

His headaches are worse than ever, and the dreams have taken a disturbing turn for worse then death;he's seen Carlos bleeding and begging and hurt, and he wakes up crying and sometimes screaming.

Sometimes, he dreams that Strex has taken him. He doesn't wake up screaming then; he comes up _swinging_. He accidentally gave Dana a black eye yesterday. (He still feels back about that.)

His world is falling apart, but at least he's standing up while it crumbles around his ears, not just cowering.

\-----------------------------

 

More people have come in, watching, listening, beginning the process of tracking down Cecil's location.

He wants to be brave.

He wants to be brave because that's who Cecil thinks that he is; someone courageous, a champion of good.

Cecil is so, so wrong.

"Cecil, I- they took away my phone till now, I'm so sorry," he says softly, voice a little rugged from over-use, from pleading and begging. "I'm.." He'd managed to pop his arm back into place not long before, and the pain was still definitely there and definitely intense. Not to mention all of his _other_  aches and pains. "..I'm..alive. I'm functional." Keep the situation off of Cecil, lest he give away even _more_ information to them before he inevitably gets caught.

\--------------------------

 

"You sound- bad." Cecil swallows, laughs, wishes he could bump his forehead against Carlos's. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Cecil is a pet-names person. Baby, sweetheart, lover- he likes that last one. He adopted it some months ago and laughed when Carlos blushed. It's been a long time since Cecil has called him anything like that, and the word is soft and loving in the air.

He is not suspicious even though he should be. He is not suspicious because he trusts Carlos. With all his heart, completely, totally, absolutely, he trusts Carlos. He loves Carlos.

He doesn't once consider the idea that Carlos would do anything to hurt him.

"I know they're probably- pissed as hell and taking it out on you and- just hang on. Hang on just a little while longer." His voice is tight, throat working. "I love you. We're going to get you back. Just- don't- just- stay safe as you can, ok?"

 

 

And behind Carlos, abruptly, one of the lab workers enters. He's one of the senior doctors here, and he bends, whispering something to one of the men tracking Cecil's phone. That man nods a sharp acknowledgement.

"Carlos, darling." Says the doctor, quiet and unobtrusive. "We nearly have his signal. But here's a fun idea. If you really will do _anything_ to keep him safe... anything at all... why don't you make him stop? Just four little words. _I lied to you_."

\---------------------------------

 

Carlos's throat seizes up.

Saying that would ruin everything. It would make Cecil never trust him again. It would take away that one person in Carlos's life who he values so, so much more than he values himself and his science.  It would mean that his motivation to save the broadcaster from negative consequences would be entirely unreciprocated.

He'd be leading Cecil on to think that he didn't love him...

...and he'd be doing it _because he loved him_.

Carlos chokes out a whisper, barely able to work his mouth, " _..I..I lied_ to you."

\------------------------------

 

"You- what?" Breathy, surprised, all confusion and slight annoyance. "About what? Strex? I know. I've gotten over wanting to punch you in the face for trying to protect me like some misguided white knight, and moved on to finding it charming. And a little sexy." He's trying to joke; and isn't it funny, how much more _secure_ and confident he sounds. As if by taking action, he's stepped out of his fear and anxiety. He has something to _do_ , a way to attack. "You have no _idea_ how many rescue scenarios I've come up with. Though, to be fair, usually it's _you_ saving _me_ , and I'm just oh-so-grateful." He laughs, and it's wet, trembling.

He's better, but he's still scared.

"Carlos, we covered this." More hesitant now, more halting. He can hear how wrong something is, he can hear it and he feels sick abruptly because Carlos doesn't sound like that. Is never supposed to sound like that. And he babbles, frantically, because whatever Carlos is about to say he _knows_ he will not want to hear. "It's- fine, it's okay. You lied to keep me from doing exactly what I'm doing. Don't lie to a reporter, though, lover, we always find out in the end-"

\-------------------------------------

 

Cecil..Cecil, god bless him, thinks that Carlos is trying to be humble.

He thinks the best of him.

And even just _thinking_ about taking that faith away is wrenching Carlos to pieces.

"I'm-" Fuck, there's never going to be a good way or a good time to say this, fuck, _fuck_ , he's started saying it and now he needs to finish because there are no doors left open and the walls are caving in on him and he can't escape, not this time, not ever again. "I'm employed by StrexCorp."

There.

There it is.

The words hang in the air, dark, thick, with the weight of many universes.

\---------------------------------

 

Silence.

Heavy, heavy, silence.

Endless. Dark.

The noise Cecil makes is tiny, muffled, and not at all unlike a dying animal. A choking, gasping sound in the back of his throat, sticking there like he can't get the air, an imperceptible whimper. " _What_?" And that's not anger. The worst part is he doesn't sound angry. It would be so much easier if that was Cecil, to fly into a rage, to shout and scream and tell Carlos to fuck off.

But that's not Cecil. Cecil is tiny, hurt tones and faith, endless, unwavering faith in his Carlos, _his Carlos_ , his beautiful, perfectly imperfect, kind, loving, strong, brave Carlos shattering into a million pieces like a fragile and delicate china doll. The sound that follows wants to be a sob, but Cecil swallows it.

"You _what_? You- how lo- you _lied_ \- all this time. _All this time_ , Christ, I am so _fucking stupid_ , stupid stu pid Cecil-" And now there is anger, but even then it's not outward. It's razor blades directed in, ripping himself apart. " _All this time_ , and I _threw myself_ at you like a cat in heat and you- God, why are you even- is this _funny_ to you?-" Now a sob, broken. "Why lie? _Why lie_ ? Why not just- let them- what the hell are you  _playing_ -"

\---------------------------------

 

The agony in Cecil's voice is something that, when he hears it, Carlos can corporeally feel. A deep, pulsing throb, and he wants to curl up on the floor and disappear. Or- no, that would be too quick and merciful. Withering away and dying would probably fit this situation better.

"It's- it's _not funny_ , n-not at all." All the people in the room now are watching him, and he knows that the doctor has a dark smirk twisting his face without even looking up to check. Carlos turns away from them a little, bending halfway over like he is trying to brace himself against an earthquake.

"I _came- to Night Vale_ because of them." Oh god, he can imagine what the radio host looks like at this very moment, down to the details, "They didn't- I- I got to know you because I _wanted to_ , Cecil, not because of them, they had nothing to do with that, not at _all_ ," He fights for breath. He fights for words. "I meant- every- I- Cecil, _Cecil_. You're not stupid, stop- stop saying-"

\------------------------------------

 

" _Shut up_." Cecil's voice breaks on the words, like  a wave crashing down, and he's never sounded like that. Not even through all this, never, like he's breaking, like he's falling apart. "Shut up _shut up_ shut up." He sits down hard, head in his hand; his legs won't hold.  There is a murmur of voices behind him and he waves off the concern. He doesn't want to deal with anyone right now. Isn't sure he _can_. " _God_ , I can't believe I- _perfect, beautiful Carlos_ and it was all a _lie_ , everything was a _lie_ , you were a _lie_." His voice breaks again and this time the sob can't be muffled. "I'm so- _stupid_. Christ. I thought- how could ever think someone like- like you-would-hah. Haha. If something's too good to be true, right?  Fuck. _Fuck_." He drops his head to the table, phone clattering as it hits. He was so foolish. Is so foolish. The stupid- stupid- he trusts blindly and he's naive and  stupid- and he never _learns_.

"You said," Gasped, choking inhale. "You said they wanted to _study me_. You said so." Almost a snarl. " _You_ wanted to study me. _Bullshit_ , Carlos. Fucking _bullshit_. I was just another _godsdamn_ experiment, just another weird thing in Night Vale, someone- hopeless and romantic and _stupid enough_ to think that love at first sight was- to think- God, you must have been _laughing_ at me-"

Someone's voice again- Dana's?- and then the sound of Cecil's broken little sobs, the ones where he's trying so hard to be silent, and _shh, baby, it's okay, Cecil, honey_ \- from the speaker, and yes, that's Dana. _Breathe, baby. Cecil- c'mon sweetheart_ \- and then the phone clattering aside. It stays open; most likely Cecil has just dropped it.

He's always clumsy when he's upset. It's a quirk. One of his many little odd, strange quirks for an odd, strange man; one of many Carlos knows by heart.

\-------------------------------------

 

Carlos had lied to Cecil on a handful of occasions, but _none_ of the things that Cecil had brought up were those lies. He finds him scientifically fascinating, but in the sense that he considers him _beautiful_ and _incredible_ and wants to know everything that there is to know about him.

But not through experimentation. Not through such cold and distanced means. Never.

" _Cecil_ -" he hears the phone falling. Shit. Shit, Cecil's not going to talk to him now, no, no. "Dana? Is that you? _Dana_ -" Please, he needs to talk to someone, for  _someone_ to believe him, to understand.

\---------------------------------

 

There's a long pause before the phone is picked up; awkward fumbling, then Dana's voice, terse and wary. "Carlos? I don't know what the hell you said-" Protective. Ferocious. The two have always been close- Cecil was truly upset when they thought Dana was gone, and overjoyed when they found out she wasn't- and it shows in her voice now. Someone has hurt her baby. Even if it's her _other_ baby. (Somewhere down the line, she'd adopted Carlos, too, like the sister-in-law you never knew you wanted.)

She takes a deep breath, and her tone is forced calm. "Cecil is bawling in my arms, Carlos, and I heard his end of that conversation." A deep breath. "Talk fast."

\---------------------------------

 

Carlos grits his teeth. She's giving him a chance. He's grateful beyond belief.  

"I initially- I came to Night Vale initially for science, like I told you and Cecil. Because - StrexCorp was curious about Night Vale, and I'm one of their top scientists, and-" He can't find the strength to remain on his feet. Carlos practically collapses into a chair, weak and shaking. "-I swear to God, Dana, I had no idea they'd- I didn't have the superiority to stop them and- I _love him_ , okay, and that has _nothing_ to do with _them_ and he doesn't believe me and I d-don't know how to explain and I just-"

\-------------------------------

 

She is silent; lets him ramble.

"I think you explained perfectly well." She says, after a long moment, her voice still terse and dangerous. "One of their _top scientists_ , Carlos? How could you-" She sounds hurt, too; betrayed, though not nearly as deeply as Cecil. "How could you keep that from us? From _him_?" She's still trying to sooth him, sobbing weakly into her stomach; he's losing power, mostly through sheer exhaustion, and they are tiny, gasping hiccups now.

"Don't react. You know they're watching you and they're counting on this breaking you both. But _luckily for you_ I _do_ believe you." She takes a shuddering breath. "Because I have _seen_ how much you love this boy. I can hear it in your voice. But right now he is- there's a lot, Carlos. and my baby is hurting and crying and needs me. I'll talk to him. I can't make any promises, Carlos."

\------------------------------------

 

He hunches up his shoulders. "I- couldn't. I couldn't. There are rules, and- and even just telling you is endangering me. A-and you."

Carlos runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Yes, I know." He screws his eyes shut and lets the messy, tangled dark curls fall. " _T-Thank_ you, Dana. For being there for him. Keep- you stay safe, and keep him safe too, alright? Keep an eye on him for me? Please." He can feel his eyes getting watery behind closed lids and he swallows. "You're incredible, I'll make this up to you, I swear."

 

\--------------------------------

 

"Yes, you will." She snips back, sharply. "Damn right you will." She sniffles, lets out a laughing, teary little breath. "Of course. He's my best friend. They'll have to go through me, you hear me?" She shifts, tightens her grip on Cecil and kisses his hair. "You, too, Carlos. You can't fix this if you're dead. And I fully expect Cecil to swamp me with TMI about all the ways you made this entire fiasco up to him." She laughs weakly again, closes her eyes. "And I know I am. I put up with you two." A pause.

 

"I'm angry at you, Carlos. I'm _furious_. But I love you, too, boy. You- you just- we'll get you out of there. Somehow. I promise." She whispers. "You're not Strex. Not anymore. You're one of us, boy. You're Night Valeian, and you're my friend and Cecil's lover and so help me God, we'll make sure that's all you ever are after this."

 

\--------------------------------

 

Carlos laughs, more relief and gratitude than humor. "I'll stay alive, I'll promise. And I'll make it up to him as well. I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to him."

"You have every right to be mad, seriously, yeah. I get it." He makes a small sound in the back of his throat, something emotional, because Dana fucking _understands_ him. She's right.

There are very few things that Carlos knows for certain, but that is one of them.

Dana is important. Cecil is important. And, no matter where he is, occupationally-speaking, his mind and his heart will always lie with Night Vale.

"Thanks. Again. This means the world to me."

\--------------------------------

 

"You mean the world to him." It's barely a whisper. "And so me, too. You can tell him goodbye, if you want." She offers, gently. Cecil has calmed down against her, is now just curled up with his face pressed into her stomach and sniffling occasionally. "I think you should. He's just hurt, Carlos. He's just scared." She kisses Cecil's hair again, lightly, strokes his tears away.

"Cecil. Cecil, baby, you don't have to talk, just listen for a minute, okay?" She requests, and he obediently lifts his head, sniffling, his eyes dull and aching as he looks at her. He looks so tired. So done. It hurts her heart to see it; to see him so obedient and pliant as she puts the phone to his ear.

"What." It's a flat word, dead, empty. Not like Cecil at all; like he should never, ever sound.

\----------------------------------

 

Carlos can't bear to hear Cecil's voice sounding that lifeless. It's not just disconcerting; it's wrong.

" _Cecil_ ," he begins, really, really softly, "I was supposed to come to Night Vale to research. To learn. But then I- then I fell in love with you. And they were _not_ happy about that. Remember those long nights when I wouldn't get home until the wee hours of the morning, or when I would have to cancel dates? That's because they upped my workload tremendously. But I fought through it. Because it was worth it. For you. Or when-" he paused, leaning back a little in the chair and opening his eyes to look at the blank ceiling and imagine. "After that time at the bowling alley. I was supposed to report back to my superiors. But I _needed to see you_ , Cecil. _You_ are the most important. I almost- I almost fucking _died_ in there and when I thought I was done for my last thought was that _Cecil will never know, I'll never get to tell him and my life will end and-_ " He presses a hand over his mouth for a moment. "So I made sure, after that." A smile- a tiny, bitter one, but a smile nonetheless. "I made sure. And I _will keep making sure_. I'm not going to die here, I'm not going to die until I've properly made this up to you, cross my heart. I'm going to do this as right as I can."

\------------------------------------

 

Cecil listens; listens and remembers. He lifts a shaking hand to his mouth because he remembers; he _remembers_ that night, will never be able to forget that night after the bowling ally. And how close their thoughts had been linked; _he's dead, he's dead and I'll never get to say it, I'll never find out_. And then Carlos _calling_ , and calling and asking him to meet and that hand on his knee and he'd put his head on Carlos's shoulder and-

-and the soft words, Carlos's voice rolling over beautiful, poetic words, saying _I love you_ without saying it. His heart had soared that night. He hadn't been able to stop smiling. "I want to believe you." It comes out as a lurched sob, his voice strained and frantic. "I want to believe you Carlos I do." He drops his head back to Dana's chest, lets her pet his back and hair. "You're the most important to me, too, and I can't- I can't- I want to believe." Another dull, hard sob. "Because I love you. Even right now I love you. Damn it. And all I can think about is- is- is just being- Please, Carlos, I can't right now. I can't." A high whine. Choking sob. "It's too much. This is all too much, everything is too much. I can't handle this anymore. I'm furious at you and I can't believe you and I _still_ just want to be in your arms right now more than anything more than _anything_ Carlos-"

 

\------------------------------------

 

"Be angry at me all that you need to," Carlos replies softly, his voice gentle and only the smallest bit unsteady. "Curse at me until you run out of curses to use. Give me the silent treatment if that's what it takes. But when- when you're done.."

He's not crying. He's not going to cry. Cecil is upset, and so Carlos has to be strong for him, and supportive, and gentle and kind and stable as possible. "Whenever you're ready I'll be there. I'm not giving up, I never will, and  I'll hold you until everything is okay again. No matter how long it takes."

\-------------------------------------

 

"Bye, Carlos." Tiny, broken, his eyes closed and slow tears rolling down his face. "Be safe. We'll. I'll. I don't know if we can be okay. I don't know. I just. I'm just tired and my head still hurts and I. Just be safe. We'll talk. Later. When you're home." Broken breath. "When you're home, and safe, we'll talk. Face to face and. Text me. Ok. Text me later.I can't. Promise I'll answer. I can't. I don't. Know anything, right now. Just. Let me know you're okay, sometimes. Let me know." He lowers his hand slowly, exhausted, worn out emotionally.

Dana gently takes the phone from his hand, watches him curl into a ball on her lap and sighs. "Hanging up now, sweetheart. Give him a day or two. He's..uh. He's been pretty rough lately. God, Carlos, just be careful, okay? We can't lose you."

\-----------------------------------

 

"It's okay, you don't have to answer unless you want to. I promise I'll text," he says, quickly, before Cecil gives up the phone.

Carlos is tired beyond belief. He can remember the last time that he's felt this tired. It's been a long couple of days, his entire body hurts, and he's drained of energy almost entirely. He nods, rubbing his temple. "Yes. Yeah. However much time he needs. I'll be as careful as I can- same to you, Dana, alright? Let me know if anything happens."

\-------------------------------

 

"I will. I will." She takes a deep breath. Her boys are so battered and weary and it hurts her to see it. So exhausted and nearing the ends of their ropes, and she never thought she'd see this day.

She never thought she'd seen them so hurt and desperate, or fighting a war they can't win.

\------------------------------


	9. [ PHONE CALL ] and Attempted Reconciliation

Carlos's texts go ignored for the first several days. So do any emails. And Cecil's voice does not ring out over the radio in rebellious cry; he is a good, perfectly behaved radio host.

 

\----------------------------------

 

The other StrexCorp employees don't explicitly tell him that Cecil has been behaving himself (and since Carlos is not permitted to have a radio he can't listen to the broadcasts), but, considering how they haven't been threatening or beating the scientist, it was safe to assume.

 

In all honesty, Carlos isn't sure how he should feel about that. What he feels is mostly relief, obviously; neither he nor the radio host are at immediate risk. However a small portion of him is saddened to think of how that powerful revolutionary version of Cecil would probably never get a chance to use that strength and motivation for anything.

 

He understands why he isn't getting a response. But that doesn't at all change the fact that it worries him.

 

Finally, feeling especially desperate, he calls him.

 

\----------------------------------

  
  
  
  
  


The call rings through with no answer.

 

And then, nearly twenty minutes later- Cecil calls back.

 

Cecil has no idea what affect he had; how just his one day spear-heading a rebellion effort already got people stirring. His _voice_ , his passion, his intensity; when Cecil wants to be heard, people _listen_. He can command a room without trying, can wax poetic about a person's very atoms and not sound absurd but instead beautiful. Some nights, Cecil has lain next to Carlos and painted pictures of him as _he_ sees him; _hair like the void, unfathomably black, and eyes that are old and wise and kind, young and vibrant and gentle, skin like caramel, like the golden sand of the desert, a smile that would light up the darkest of pits, the blackest of oblivions._

Cecil paints with words as surely as an artist with a brush.

His first words to Carlos, though, are not powerful, and poetic, and magnetic. They are, simply- "Dana is making me behave." And he sounds so _tired_. "And frankly, I'm not sure I have the energy left to argue. I was fighting for you."

\---------------------------------------

 

Carlos is working when Cecil calls - _Cecil calls!_ \- but he sets his equipment down immediately the second he sees who it is on the caller ID. And what Cecil says isn't powerful or poetic, no...but that doesn't make a difference to him, because the sound of Cecil speaking, no matter how emotionlessly or how tiredly, makes the tension ease from Carlos's body.

 

"I didn't call because I wanted to argue," he says quietly. "I called because I miss your voice."

 

\-------------------------------------

And that stops him cold. "I-I-" He's blushing. He's furious and hurt and sad and dying and he's blushing, like an idiot, because Carlos _missed his voice_. "I, uh. I. I missed. Yours, too." Weakly, uncertianly. He's still spooked off, but it is not in Cecil's nature to be mistrustful, to hate, to hold grudges. That's where Strex went horribly wrong; Cecil may not forgive and forget, but he will eventually _accept_. And forgiveness will come after.

Cecil sees. Has always seen. Always heard. And _thank_ God, thank God, he heard Carlos.

He takes a deep breath. "I'm trying to be angry at you." He adds, barely a breath. "Stop making it hard. I wanted to hate you. To- to- it's hard enough. Being me, being- being someone like me, who's never been out of Night Vale really and isn't- smart, like you, I mean I'm not dumb but- I'm not. Like you. Hell, you told me the clocks didn't work and I said neat. You're- you- and I'm- and it's hard enough. Thinking _Carlos loves me even though he's allergic to my cat and I'm too emotional and late everywhere and dress depending on how I feel and don't care what it looks like and it embarrasses him_. Thinking you love me even though I have- breakdowns over everything and get upset when you don't remember certain dates or- it's hard enough _imagining_ that. and then you tell me you're Strex, and that's _after_ telling me I'm _atypical_ , and all I can think- all I can-" He sighs, falls back against the door.

"And I wanted to hate you. But it's been a few days and all I can do is worry and hope you're okay and eating and not hurt, and remembering to sleep and stay hydrated and- and afraid they're putting more marks on you, _hurting_ you, it's all I can think about."

\--------------------------------------------

 

Carlos hears the uncomfortable stuttering, but he smiles a little anyway. Cecil missed his voice too. Just knowing that makes Carlos feel so much better about everything. He'd been genuinely worried that he'd _never_ answer messages or pick up the phone - or, if he did, it would only be pure hate that would come through the speaker.

"I''m going to be entirely honest from now on," Carlos says softly,  "or, at least, as honest as I can be. I'm alright. Not _great_ , not by a long shot, but I'm alright. I'm hurt, but not since- not since a little while ago, and they seem to be healing alright. I miss you. So much. And I worry about you, when you don't talk to me, because I'm not _like_ you, I can't tell what you're feeling when I can't see you and can't hear you, Cecil. It scares me sometimes. To not know how you are."

He sighs, looking down. "Next time that I see you in person? Remind me to tell you all of the reasons that you're wrong. I have a lot to say about reasons that I love you, but I would rather tell you in person, if that's okay."

\-----------------------------------------

 

He sniffles, wiping a hand over his face. "Sorry. I needed- space." He whispers, sliding down the door all the way to sit, long legs sprawled out in front of himself. He'd been- still was- so confused. So conflicted. But whatever Carlos was or had done, it was hard not to believe that he honestly loved Cecil. Hard to doubt that, even if he _wanted_ to. "I do. Miss you too. Actually. And I. I- I-" He clears his throat, coughs, struggles to go on.

"I'll let you make it up to me." He whispers, at last, throat tight. "Give you a chance to prove it to me. When we see each other again.Prove it to me, Carlos." It's almost a plea. "You get out of there. In one piece. And you come back to me and you make it up to me, you tell me everything you have to say and you prove it to me." He puts his face in his hands for a moment, continues.

"You have no idea how much I want to believe you. How much I want to trust you." He whispers. He sniffs again, then adds- "I'll uh. I'll keep in touch. Text you. And stuff. I'm- Carlos, I'm not going to just- be okay. I can't just be okay. But. I mean, I've been thinking. And talking to Dana. And I love you. Even if you  _were_ lying. I can't just- make myself not love you. So. I'm giving you a-a- chance. And I'll let you know. That I'm okay. I've just, uh. I've been. I'm worn out. I'm. I feel like a  _rag_ . I don't even have the energy to fight back anymore." It's helpless, tiny, and begging for strength.

For a reason.

\-------------------------------------

 

"Needing space is fine," he replies, quietly.

As Cecil speaks, Carlos lowers his forehead to the table. The cold smooth metal feels pleasant against his skin, and the shock of the temperature change makes him feel more alert.

He lets out a small laugh. Not because anything is funny; it is disbelief. And _relief_.

"I'm definitely going to prove it to you, Cecil. I - I can never entirely make up for what I've done, of course, this is going to leave a big emotional-scar. But I'll make it up to the best of my abilities, and will _definitely_ prove to you that I love you."

"I think," he continues, slowly, softly, "that hearing how you're doing every so often, even if it's only a few words, will really help." A deep inhale. "Cecil. You're. You're _strong_. And I know that you don't feel like that right now, but you are. You can deal with all sorts of crazy stuff on a daily basis and be unfazed. Hell, you learned that your boyfriend worked for a malevolent  mega-corporation, and yet here you still are." He smiles gently. "You're _tough_ and _determined_ and I admire that about you. Don't forget how strong you are, Cecil."

\-------------------------------------

 

Of course it would. Neither of them know it right now, but it will always hang over them like a black cloud; will put a dent in the once unwavering faith Cecil had in Carlos. It will go on to be something that Cecil never, really, one hundred percent forgives, something he sometimes drags up in fights to use as a weapon, a low blow, because very few people know it but Cecil is _not above_ fighting dirty. But he loves Carlos, with all his heart and soul, and it's that love that lets him accept.  Cecil will never blindly  trust Carlos again...but in the end, perhaps it's something that needed to happen.

But they don't know that yet.

Now, all they know is that they  _hurt_ . That they need each other,

He laughs, too, at the words, weak and wet, a soft, darkly amused chuckle. "Our lives are weird." He informs, forehead in his hands, an honest, if broken smile on his face. "If I catch you stroking my cat and 'mwahaha'ing, I'm leaving." He laughs again- this time it's closer to his normal silly giggle, though it dies quickly. Cecil's entire life has been mysterious disappearances, alternate realities, cats that float and malevolent dog parks. Mysterious hooded figures and five-headed dragons and never being _sure_ he's who he thinks he is.

Cecil's life is angels, and spirits, and demons and insanity.  Ever since he was a child, Cecil's life has consisted of things that would send more people _screaming_ into an asylum; things that he looks at and shrugs off, or- worse- _enjoys_. (Like floating cat-monsters.)

He is not _strong_ , simply _accustomed_. This is Night Vale. This is home, this _is_ his normal. Thirty-four years later, you don't blink when a hooded figure appears in your studio, or a floating cat is abruptly in the men's bathroom, or a tiny city in a bowling ally declares war,  or your best friend takes a multi-dimensional trip through various realities and timelines, only to fight her way back home.

It's just Night Vale.

(He is wrong, of course. The things Cecil can bounce back from are amazing. It's hard to keep him down; harder still to break him. That he can joke right now is proof of that. He doesn't see it in himself and he probably never will, because to Cecil, he is simply _Cecil_.)

"I don't feel like it." He confirms quietly, as his laughter fades away. "I don't feel- strong. Or. Any of the other. Other things you- I'm not- I'm just- used to insanity, Carlos. I'm just-" He thunks his head back against the wall, hiccups softly. He's past being able to cry. He's emotionally _done_.

"...Was it a lie, at first?" He asks, after a long moment. "Getting close to me. Letting me- drap myself over you like an idiot. Was I- were we- a lie?" The anger is gone, and now it's just soft curiosity; the need to understand. The need for closure.

\---------------------------------

 

Silence for a few long moments.

Carlos exhales, and then says, softly but firmly with a confidence unusual in him, "No."

"I.." he continues, realizing that he had more to say than just that, "first met you because of them. They thought it was important that I meet the most influential people in Night Vale; yourself included."

"After that I was..well, curious. You..you're.. really.. I wanted to talk to you more. And to learn more about you. And hearing the way that you /talked/ about me? I couldn't stop thinking about that. It's- that's-" Carlos grinned sheepishly, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. "I had a crush. Even though I refused to acknowledge it as that at the time."

"No, Cecil. It wasn't a lie. Not at all."

\---------------------------------

 

Cecil can't help but laugh again, softly. "You were _cute_." He replies, defensively, blushing a little. "Beautiful, when you smiled at me, and-" He shrugs a little, pulls in a shaking breath.

"It's just I trusted you. You know? I trusted you, and you- it'll. Just take time, Carlos. Okay, lover?" The use of that word- simple and small- means so much. Another hard exhale. "I was what?"

And it's obvious now he's just talking. For Carlos's sake; for his own sake. Just chatting,  and even as he does his voice gets stronger. More confident, building with every word. There's even a little teasing in his tone. "Excentric?" He lets his tone lilt impishly, and it's amazing, how even angry, even hurt, Carlos makes him feel confident and strong. He can't hate the man; can't, as he said, stop loving him.

\----------------------------------

 

When he hears Cecil use the term 'lover' for the first time in what feels like an eternity. Carlos has to press his fingers over his mouth to stop from vocally responding. After a second he lets his hand fall, breath coming out shakily.

"I have all the time in the world. All the time you need," he says softly.

Then Cecil's voice begins to do something incredible, growing with every word. It makes him very happy to hear that. "...Yes." He laughs a bit. "Yeah. " He's _missed_ this side of Cecil, even more than he had realized.

\-----------------------------------

 

Breathe.

Brace.

Accept.

Let the breathe out.

"Yeah, I've heard that before." He makes Carlos laugh, and feels his lips twitch up. "Gorgeous? Interesting? Intelligent? Walking  _audio erotica_?" He lets his voice drop, then laughs, and laughs harder, and realizes how desperately  he's wanted to tease Carlos. To smile and laugh and play, how delighted he is to hear the man's laugh instead of the pain and tears they've both been offering.

Breathe. Accept.

"Nod and smile, Carlos." He adds, letting out a shaky breath. "I don't know how long it'll take. I think- I think- I think it might always bother me. Not what you are, but that you _lied_ to me about it. But it's...okay. We'll be okay. Eventually. Whatever- whatever brought us together, you're." Softly, eyes closing. "You're the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. You make me feel- so many things, and I'm stronger with you beside me and. None of that changed."

\-----------------------------

 

Cecil's laugh is _genuine_ and _hearty_ and Carlos can't remember the last time that he heard the man laugh that. He's grinning like an idiot right now, listening, feeling his own face grow warm.

"I'd like for us to be okay," he replies in agreement.

"I mean, it's up to you," he continues, clarifying. "Since I'm the one at fault. You can be mad, or be bothered, or feel however you want to feel. I'm not going to pretend that I have the right to control your emotional responses, because I don't-" another laugh, more embarrassed, "But I'd like for us to be okay. Nothing is more important to me than that."

\-----------------------------

 

"Yeah. I think we'll be okay." Gently, and he wants to be with Carlos, to head-bonk him lightly, to hug him. "I can't promise right away, and I- can't promise all the time. But we will be." Because Carlos isn't lying about loving him, and isn't that the most important part? Whatever else is the case, Carlos loves him, honestly loves him, and that is why he is okay. Why he can get through the rest of it.

"Right now, we just have to get you home and safe. Then you can spend the rest of your life kissing my feet." His teasing softens, gentles. "Just- focus on being alright, Carlos. Call me. Text me. Email me. Whatever you need to. I'll be here. No matter what, no matter  _what_ , I will always,  _always_ be here."

\-------------------------------

 

"Absolutely." It feels _wrong_ to be smiling this much while he's in the labs, but Cecil's talking with him and that's really the only thing that matters anymore. "I'll contact you. I'll send you things, all the time. And I- I know that you might not want to reply all the time. And that's fine. But please respond at least _sometimes_? Because otherwise I'll worry that- I, I'll worry. Ok?"

\--------------------------------

 

"Okay. Okay." He agrees, and he wants to take Carlos's face in his hands and hold him in his arms. "I'll- I won't make you worry, Carlos. I won't. That wasn't fair, and -" He takes a deep breath, lets it out on a shaky laugh. "I'll answer you. If I can't, then Dana will, okay? This whole not talking to you thing, it's uh. It's not working out so well."

 

There are heavy footsteps, abruptly, behind Carlos; the sound of someone coming.

 

And Cecil is, suddenly, rather rushed when he speaks again.

 

"Be safe."

 

No 'I love you.' Maybe he can't bring himself to say it again yet. But it's there, in his tone, as he hangs up.

 

\--------------------------------

 

He wants to keep talking to him, but their time is up, and he hears the 'click' of Cecil hanging up.

 

Carlos doesn't look up. He doesn't have to. He knows who is there, and he certainly knows the reason why.

\---------------------------------   
  



	10. Courage is Not an Absence of Fear

"He's behaving himself," Carlos says quietly, gaze resting on the floor. "He's not being rebellious. That still falls under the terms of our contract, if I understand correctly."

\-------------------------------

 

" _Carlos_." The voice is smooth and soft, and disturbingly like Cecil's own; the person stops in the doorway, shadowed, but the height is a match for Cecil, too; the build. The way of holding himself is wrong; this person is very upright, and Cecil tends to slouch, drawing himself to full height only when he's angry or preening. Cecil's body language is open and approachable; this person is all arms-crossed ice cold distance. Carlos would know who this person is, even before Night Vale; he's seen Kevin before.  "We both know that won't last. You said you'd do anything; you were supposed to keep your little pet nice and quiet. But you just had to go and ruin _everything_.

We were trying to help, Carlos. By making you hurt Cecil, we were making sure he wouldn't _want_ to cause...difficulties. But now he's all pepped up and raring at the world again, and while that's just  _sweet_ , how close you two are, I'm afraid it's...a problem."

  
  


Someone else enters the room; extends a hand for Carlos's phone and places a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Can't trust you with that, it seems." The person-who-isn't-Cecil - Kevin- says, from the door

way, on a disappointed sigh. "You just have to make everything so hard. First you go and fangirl over him, and now this. Our superiors aren't giving you another chance, Carlos. First toe he puts out

of line, and we're sending someone to pick him up. Won't that be nice? You'll get to see him in person."

\--------------------------------------

 

Of course he knows who Kevin is. In fact, when he first met Cecil, the uncanny similarities between the two had rattled him.

But he'd realized quickly that they were _very different people_.

Carlos grits his teeth. He can feel Kevin's endlessly-dark eyes watching his every movement, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He's just a man, he shouldn't be that _disturbing_.. but maybe, Carlos thinks, everything about Cecil that makes him comfortable, is what in Kevin makes him not.

"Dana's keeping an eye on him," he says, haltingly, holding the phone above the hand but not yet handing it over. "He's not _going_ to step out of line. She's making sure, and, by keeping in touch with him, I can make sure as well."

\--------------------------------------

 

"Dana. That sweet little intern? Who _are_ you trying to kid, Carlos? Who do you think encouraged him to defy us in the first place?" He laughs, the sound so _uncannily like Cecil's_.  A happy, cheerful, rolling laugh, before it cut off without warning. "Give the man the phone, Carlos, or I'll have to come over there and take it from you. And I really don't want to have to play keep-away with you." One step into the room.

Two.

" _Game over_ , Carlos." And any trace of that sweet amusement is gone. It is a low growl, flat and cold. " _Lover_. You had your chance to keep Cecil safe. You had your chance to make him back off, and you _blew it_. So now, dear, sweet, _perfect_ Carlos-" Step, step, and Cecil's face, Cecil's smile, with eyes like soulless black voids and a smile that is more a snarl. "We simply wait for your little broadcaster to void the contract."

\----------------------------------

 

Carlos wants to whimper, to curl up in a little ball underneath his desk, to hide and to never come out again.

But he doesn't. Not even when Kevin comes closer, his use of that laugh and that face feeling like a blasphemy, bearing down on the scientist. He doesn't hide.

Because he has to be strong. For Cecil.

He hands over the phone.

And turns his head up to look Kevin in the eyes.

Those eyes, not so much actual eyes as they are a lack thereof, burn into his skull, shake him to the bone. Yet Carlos doesn't look away; he doesn't let himself. He holds the gaze for a long moment, dead serious, a dark flicker of what might've even been _rage_ in his own dark eyes. When Carlos speaks, the words are low, soft, and steady. "We'll see."

\---------------------------------

 

Kevin smiles again. "Thank you, _lover_." He teases, and reaches out to stroke Carlos's face light as can be before winking.

Cecil would be proud of Carlos; of the way he faces down Kevin fearlessly, of the way he fights through it to stare him down defiantly. Cecil would say he was beautiful and strong and proud; would smile at him and sing his praises.

Cecil would be so proud, if he knew.

Frighteningly, even _Kevin_ looks rather proud. Though, perhaps in this case, it's more like _impressed_. His lips twitch up in a smile that is- thankfully- nothing like Cecil's. It's too unbalanced, too twitchy. "We will indeed. You know, Carlos, you've been doing _such_ great work for us. You always have. Such great work, in fact, that I think you deserve a special treat. I'll tell you what. _When_ Cecil messes up, and we have to make him our newest house-guest, he'll be _your_ responsibility. Isn't that perfect? That way, you can indulge that adorable sense of curiosity, _and_ you and your precious little love can have each other all to yourselves."

The smile falls, and this time, when Ce-no, _Kevin_ \- reaches out, his grip on Carlos's chin is painfully tight.

"Do not _challenge_ me, Carlos. You will lose."

\----------------------------------

 

Carlos tries not to cringe when Kevin's fingers - cold, _dead_ fingers - touch his skin, but it is difficult not to. They send what feels like little shocks of electricity through his jaw and down his neck.

He barely has time to process what the man just said before he's grabbed.

No. He..can't. He can't do that.

He closes his eyes. "I.." he whispers, and that confidence from a few moments ago has drained from him, "..I know."

\--------------------------------

 

"Yes, you know. Of course you know." Kevin smirks, lets his face go. "Of course, sweet heart. Now, you get back to work. _I'll even give you a radio_." He grins, and the reason is clear; he wants Carlos to hear. He wants Carlos to hear the moment Cecil goes too far, the moment he goes back to inciting his little rebellion; wants Carlos to _know_ the instant Cecil damns himself.

And the worst part is, Cecil will do it in the hopes that it will give Carlos a chance to get out of their claws. He will give them himself to save Carlos. He will incite as much rebellion as he can because his blood is up again. Because he believes Carlos loves him. Because his faith is restored.

Because Carlos couldn't let him believe anything less than the truth.

\-------------------------------

 

Carlos knows exactly why it is that Kevin wants him to have a radio. But he's not going to turn down the offer. He needs to hear Cecil's voice to make sure that he's doing alright. And... if, god forbid, anything happen to him... he wants to know.

He's afraid of Cecil trying something again. He's truly, genuinely terrified.

But all that he can do at this point is hope and pray.

He nods once, and then turns away from Kevin, mumbling something about needing to get back to his work.

\-----------------------------

 

Kevin is right, of course.

It takes time.

Weeks.

Weeks of passive-aggressive comments, snarky asides, all tone and inflection and tucked tail when someone tells him to _shut up_ in no  uncertain terms.

Weeks of text messages and phone calls Carlos never gets. Of emails that are unanswered.

Weeks of hearing Cecil's voice get more and more strained, of hearing him bounce between maniac and utterly exhausted and trying to hide it. It comes to a head the day a small group of children that had been under Tamyka Flynn's flag disappeared.

_Really_ disappeared.

No less then five of them, simply gone.

Including, it seemed, Cecil's niece. (and hello, when had _she_ gotten involved in this?)

It is the domino that started the fall of them all.

They all come tumbling down in just a handful of minutes. Cecil is reporting, his hands shaking and _rage_ on his face, not reflected in his smooth, calm voice but obvious to anyone in the studio; and there is not a single change or hitch when he simply glides, graceful and fearless, into "-and I'm positive that a certian megacorperation thinks that they've frightened us _all_ into complacency with this move. God knows they've tried hard enough." And meets Dana's eyes, solidly, unflinching, knowing what he is about to do.

He holds her gaze without blinking as he continues. _Run, Dana. Run and don't stop._ "And for a while, it seems they were correct. But I have tired of strangling on my collar. I consider myself to be masterful with words; eloquent and artistic but allow me, for once, to refrain from gilding the lily.

I am terrified. I am terrified and I am furious and I know what I am about to do is foolish. But courage is not an absence of fear. It is being so frightened you can't breathe, so frightened your stomach turns and your vision blurs, more frightened then you have ever been in your life- and doing what you must do anyway.

If you want me, _I am right here_. So I'll make you a deal I _dare_ you to uphold. You come and get me, and you _leave_. You leave Night Vale. You leave Carlos alone, you leave my family and friends alone, you _get out_ of our town and you _never_ come back. There is nothing for you here but a fight. "

Finally, _finally_ , he blinks, extends a hand to his best friend, to Dana, and it trembles. "And to a certain _idiot_ out there- I love you. _I love you_. Good bye, Night Vale." Softly, eyes closing. "Goodbye."

And a never-ending silence.

\-----------------------------------

 

What feels like an infinite distance away, in the labs of that very mega-corporation, the broadcast echoes through the room and a scientist buckles to the floor.

In the studio the only intern who didn't die squeezes Cecil's shaking hand  in her warm steady one, palm callused from countless journeys, fingers small but strong, and smiles.

They come, of course.

They come because they don't care about any proposed deal, and because this act of revolution needs to be repressed before it gets out of hand. They come because they've been waiting in the shadows, knowing that this would happen and that, when it did, they'd have the upper hand.

Because Carlos'd be devastated. And Cecil, poor little Cecil, would be all too willing to come with them.

\--------------------------------------

 

He clutches her hand firmly, his entire body trembling but his eyes determined and strong; he doesn't say anything to her. He doesn't need to. Just holds on, because he's brave and willing but he's scared, and like anyone who is scared he doesn't want to be alone. Holds her hand and plays with her fingers and they talk, while they wait. Small but strong, like Dana herself. Steady where he trembles. Experienced and scarred but here and wiser for her experiences.  And he smiles back at her. He cries, a little, brushes them away with his free hand, but he smiles.

Of course she doesn't run. Of course she's right there when they come, and he doesn't fight them. He pulls her into his arm and kisses her forehead gently, his strong, brave, remarkable Dana, stands calmly and scratches Koshekh under the chin, whispering _good kitty, I love you, be nice to Dana, be a good boy, I'll miss you._

He doesn't need to say _I'll miss you_ to Dana. She knows.

They're rougher then they need to be. He cries out once, arm wrenched up his back, but he doesn't make another sound except _please let him go_. in a voice that is broken and aching.

\---------------------------------

 

They take him away in one of those black vans of theirs, unmarked except for the StrexCorp logo bold and bright on either side. They meet no resistance from him but that doesn't change the fact that they shove him around every time he moves.

Meanwhile, Carlos doesn't get off the floor. He is too devastated. And now, his internal pain exceeding his external, he doesn't have the motivation to move ever again.  When they _yell_ and _threaten_ what might happen if he doesn't get up he is met with the throbbing complaints from his ankle, as expected, but also now from his temples. He can't do this. He can't-

But, if he doesn't...

...then someone else will.

And, suddenly, a whole new light is brought to the situation.

\---------------------------------

 

They are afraid of him. He doesn't have to be a genius to figure that out, but Cecil is smart and realizes very quickly. He wonders what Carlos meant, when he said atypical; remembers a monster and a past he does _not_ remember.

For a moment, he is afraid of _himself_ , too.

Kevin and someone else come for Carlos; Kevin tells him that he's got ten minutes to get his butt in gear or they'll assign someone new to Cecil. Ten minutes, Carlos.

They frog-march Cecil down, into the labs, glasses gone, smile gone, hair a mess and posture slouched. As if trying to hide but not from them, no.

Trying to hide from _Carlos_.

\---------------------------------

 

Ten minutes.

He does what he can. Gets together a clipboard with the preliminary questions for new subjects. Straightens his labcoat. Tucks his shirt in.

Ten minutes and although he's still a complete wreck, he looks a little less of one.

And he waits by the door, leaning against the wall slightly for support.

It feels like the longest that he's ever waited in his life.

\---------------------

 

Only once inside does the fighting start; there are voices that abruptly lift, and then someone hits the wall. There is the sound of flesh on flesh, a solid _thud_ of a punch, and someone makes a sound that is not at all unlike a cat snarling.

_Cecil_ makes that sound. It is feral and dark, and whatever set him off at last, they have a hell of a time wrangling the skinny, harmless broadcaster back down. Someone yelps _he_ bit _me, the little asshole_ , and it's hard not to feel proud of him. It winds down after a few minutes, though, and finally the door opens.

"He didn't take kindly to being told no." Kevin says, as he steps out; he's bleeding, a set of nail marks raked cleanly down the side of his face; Cecil scratched the _fuck_ out of him, from the look of him. He's holding a cloth to the wound. "But it's safe for you to go in, now. Off you pop, Carlos; aren't you eager to see him, after so very long?"

\----------------------

 

Carlos had been in a panic throughout those several minutes. He was afraid of what might happen, of what they might _do_ to Cecil if he attempted too much resistance.

But then Kevin comes in. And, despite everything, Carlos can't help but feel a little bit _impressed_.

He looks down, not responding to Kevin. And, limping, clipboard in hand...

He opens the door and steps in.

\-------------------------

 

 

 


	11. You are Insects, You are Plagues

And there is is. Bound, hand and foot, seated in a chair in the middle of the room, for the first time in weeks they lay eyes on each other in person. Cecil's head comes up and he tenses, like he wants to try to lunge for Carlos; his breath hitches, soft mop of hair flopping over one eye. It half hides the bruise someone gave him. His lip is split, and there is the blood on his hand from where he lashed out at Kevin, bruised knuckles from a well thrown right hook.

"Carlos." The word escapes, barely a breath, and he twists, purely instinctive, in the restraints. "You're limping. What happened?" All worry, concern- love.

So innocent. Not a trace of mistrust or doubt on his face.

\---------------------------

This is what he has visualized for so many weeks now. The blotches of blood and discoloration marring Cecil's usually inhumanly-flawless skin. Slender limbs bound down. Eyes big and emotive and... and _loving_.

Carlos looks like he's going to answer but he doesn't- he swallows hard, instead, unable to look Cecil directly in the eyes. His face is flushed, but this time it's flushed with shame.

"You.." his voice is croaky. "..rebelled. You knew what they'd do. You're an _idiot_."

\---------------------------

"You said they wanted me." The reply is immediate, and he twists again but it's not to escape- he wants to _reach out_ , wants desperately to touch. "So I gave them me. I gave them me because they were hurting everyone. They hurt you. Were hurting you. They took my family. My friends. I'm not _worth this_." His voice breaks, and he laps at the wound on his lip, ducks his head, tries to make Carlos meet his eyes. "I'm not worth that. I'm- I don't know what they'll do to me but- they- God, they were already everywhere. Watching me. Following me. I was sick and _tired_  of bowing my head and letting them _bully_ me." Rebellion in his tone again, abruptly, chin coming up, that proud fire in his eyes. "I was tired of watching them hurt people. And- you- because of _me_ -"

He takes a deep breath,  _twist_ , grunt with pain, drop his head back. It's pounding, throbbing, worse then his headache has been through all this. "Carlos?" It's a low plea-

-and he reaches for him. Like a child. Like a lover. Reaches out, pleading.

\------------------------------

Carlos flinches, drawing up his shoulders. He wraps his arms across his body as though they and the clipboard can provide some sort of protection. He can't let himself hear the plea.

"Did you really think they'd stop hurting people," he says, quietly, squinting at the ground, "just because they have you? They're not like that."

He knows that they're watching through security cameras. And they're not patient. Carlos clears his throat.

"I'll be th- the scientist working with you during your time here, also serving as your primary handler. I will be taking your stats daily, as well as performing tests. Your compliance would be appreciated." These words are a little more even, more _practiced_. This is what he has been trained to say. It's a requirement.

\--------------------------------

He stops, blinks, hurt crossing his face, his hand falling back to the seat; he blinks, brow furrowing, and shrinks back a little into the chair. "I- I had to try." He whispers, the harsh reprimand catching him raw.

"It was better then doing nothing. I had to do _something_. I had to-" He blinks again at the next words, Carlos's tone unlike anything he'd ever heard. Distant. Cold. Not a trace of his lover there and he shrinks back again, for the first time a real flicker of fear in his eyes.

"Handler?" He echoes, and then fear is replaced by a spark of anger. "I'm not a dog." He snaps, and how painful it it; the similarities between Cecil, angry in this room, in this chair, and Cecil, angry at Carlos for some slight in their home.  "You're really doing this. You're really going to do this." Anger, fear, _pain_ ; this time he jerks as if to pull away, and that is raw betrayal on his face. "I thought it wasn't a lie, Carlos. I thought you _loved_ me. I trusted that. I trusted you. What, was it bull? Because God knows I wouldn't- you- don't-" Anger fading, giving way to a broken little moan. "Don't do this. Please, Carlos. Please don't."

\-----------------------------------

**  
  
**

The pain and anger in Cecil's voice makes Carlos's throat seize up. He fights for breath.

"Do you have any idea what they'll do to you if I don't d- if-"

The hand not holding the clipboard is shaking. He shoves it deep into the pocket of his labcoat.

"I- I've been assigned. And it's better that it is me and not - not any- no one else."

\--------------------------------------

He stares, eyes flicking up and down Carlos, catches the tremble, the hitch in his voice. Anger fades even more. "I can't do this if it's you." He whispers. "I can't- I can't- it can't be you. It can't be you, Carlos."

His voice breaks, and the last of the fiery anger slides away to reveal nothing but pain. "I didn't think it would be you. Please." He swallows, and he's watching Carlos like a spooked animal backed

into a corner. "Please. _Please_."

He pushes backwards, closes his eyes and shuts up at last; but fear races along every line and muscle in his body. He is terrified of _Carlos_. Cecil is _terrified of Carlos_ , and that is so very wrong.

\---------------------------------

Carlos needs to _fix_ this, he knows he does, but he can't think of a way to make everything better. He's a scientist, sure, but he's not a _magician_ for fuck's sake.

"I know, I know," he breathes, watching Cecil's feet, "I /know/, but you don't understand. This was the only thing I could do. Either I'm the one to do this, or- oh my god," he can't say his lover's name, "I couldn't stand if I didn't know how.. How you were."

\---------------------------------

"How I am. _How I am_." He laughs, the sound broken and bitter. "How do you _think_ I am? How do you think I'm going to be?"  His voice breaks, and this time he _is_ twisting to get away, wanting to put distance between himself and Carlos, who is now no longer a lover or friend but a simple threat. He takes a breath, closes his eyes, and because it's Carlos he lets him see. Lets him see the fear, the panic that he's feeling. "I can...I can..." He drops his head to his chest, heaving for air.

Arguing is pointless. He can't do anything about it, and he's not going to fight Carlos. Not Carlos. _He can't._ He didn't think it would be his _lover_ , his Carlos,  assigned to him. Hurting him. _Handling_ him.

_Handling him_.

He makes a choking, gagging sound, and again, and "'nna be sick." Slurred, eyes closed, hunching over, and no, no, he's not going vomit all over his damn self, he is not going to give them that pleasure.

\-----------------------------

What is the right way to explain such a horrible situation to such an undeserving person?! If it wasn't Carlos, then it'd be someone who would deliberately cause Cecil as much physical and mental pain as possible. If it wasn't Carlos, it'd be someone who took pleasure in wearing the broadcaster down to a mere shell of the man he once was. If it wasn't Carlos, Carlos would undoubtedly never be allowed to check in on him and make sure he was alive and healthy.

But if it _was_ Carlos.. he would have at least a _little_ bit of control of the situation.

The scientist tries to hold a straight face, but he's obviously experiencing pain, far more emotionally than physically.

"I don't want to," he barely manages to utter. "But this is- this is our best option. It's this or I- I'll never-" he makes a strained sound, simultaneously needing to say it but not being able to admit it, "I _can't lose_ you."

\--------------------------------

He stops. Stops and stares, and then he closes his eyes. "I love you, too." He whispers, his voice barely a sound at all, and the sob lurches out of his chest violently. Wrenches at his bindings halfheartedly.

"I love you, too, Carlos. I can't do this with you. It can't- I need to- God, Carlos, how can I do this with you?" Another weak sob, and his head falls, eyes closing. And he looks simply done. Simply lost and tired and out of the fight he'd stored up thinking it would be an enemy he _could_ fight.

He can't fight Carlos. Least of all when his reasoning is _that_. " _I love you_." Is all he whispers, tears falling onto his jeans, soaking the material through, eyes still closed. "I love you. I will always love  you." And like that, the tension is gone from his frame, and he is limp and pliant and _finished_. "What's on the clipboard." It's a flat non-question, not even looking up, voice thick and choked with tears.

This is happening, no matter what. "And what happens now."

\-------------------------------

Carlos tries to smile but it didn't quite work. His eyes flick up to Cecil though, for just a moment, and right then what he wanted more than anything else to kiss those tears off his face, to tell Cecil that yes, he _knew_ , and that he loved him more than anything else. That love was why he had to do this.

But he doesn't say or do any of that.

"It's a questionnaire," he says, quietly, voice a little uneven. He pulls over a chair to sit down in, a few paces away from Cecil, facing him.

"W-what do you mean by ' _what happens now_ ' ?"

\-----------------------------

"It's not a vague question. _What happens now_?" He's still head-down, eyes closed, and the only sign that he's crying are the tears themselves. His voice is steady and not shaking. "I don't think you need to ask me anything for that." A weak, bitter laugh. "You know everything about me. Or is it something like _do you spontaneously spout extra heads_ , because no. Until you told me otherwise, I thought I was just-" He shrugged. "Normal. Normal for Night Vale, anyway."

He sniffles, wipes his eyes on his sleeve, chest hiccuping with staggered breaths. "So this is why you called me. After I found those tapes." He whispered. "Not because I was upset, but because it had something to do with _this_." Hurt again, thick in his tone. "I thought-I- I-  dammit."

\--------------------------------

"I was-" going to act as though he didn't know. As though he didn't already know so much about Cecil. He was going to try to emotionally distance himself.

Goddamn.

"..you're right," he breathes, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "You're right. I do."

"It's, it's _not_ why I called," Carlos says louder, more firmly. "They asked me questions afterward. Of course they asked. But I called you because I was worried about you."

\------------------------------------

"Right." Another bitter laugh, body jerking with it. 'Right, of _course_ you were. Hell, you probably know more about what that was then you _ever_ told me." He snorts, and yes, he's still angry; still bitter, still betrayed and hurt.

Mostly, though, he just _aches_.

 

"Carlos." The voice is calm and firm, and it's worrying that Cecil doesn't react to it. "Save the tearful reunions. If you can not behave in a professional manner, then we will get someone who can." 

 

The audio clicks off, but they both know they're still being watched. Cecil lifts his head at last, and the look on his face-

The look on his face is terrifyingly blank and empty, despite the tears rolling down his cheeks. It's almost like his body is reacting without his permission; like he's stopped being fully aware of what his emotions are doing. There's something truly eerie about it; eerier still about the _look_ in his eyes. It's too much like Kevin.

It's too much _not_ like Cecil.

He smiles, and it doesn't touch his eyes. "So now are you going to tell me what 'atypical' means, or do I get to find out the fun and exciting way?"

\-------------------------------------------

That expression...the lifelessness of Cecil's eyes, the fake way in which his face twisted into only half successful mimicries of expression... although Carlos didn't yet know it, that face would haunt his dreams for a long, long time to come.

He clears his throat.

"You..probably already know most of it," he starts. Not _flawlessly_ professional, but definitely closer. "And there's some things we don't know yet. Obviously. It's mostly involving your mind."

\-----------------------------------

And, amazingly, real curiosity touches his eyes. This has always been a part of what makes Cecil _Cecil_ , his ability to adapt and his curiosity, his wonder, his sense of awe and fearlessness when it comes to the unknown.

Even when it's himself.

He is frightened and confused, but he's _interested_ , too, intrigued, curious. He can't help it. Chances are if the situation was different,  he would be like a puppy, nipping at Carlos's heels.

"Oh. Is that all?" He snarks, sniffling again. He knows _some_ things; he knows he has dreams that come true, and he's long since accepted it must be some type of minor clairvoyance; and he's absurdly sensitive to anything and everything in Night Vale that tries mind control or mental communication.  (Which is annoying as hell, to say the least.)

He hates the way Carlos obeys them, the way he can't even hate him for it.

He hates how naive he is. How stupid.

\------------------------------

Carlos is finding that he's relieved to have the clipboard with him. It does have a few sheets of information on Cecil, although the _real_ reason he's relieved is that it gives him something to hold and to stare at.

Out of the corner of his eye, though, he can still clearly see the weird mix of curiosity and frustration passing over Cecil's features.

He nods. "E-extrasensory perception and such. Things that you already know, only the more...  _scientific_ explanations. Or, at least, as scientific as possible, as it's still difficult to understand it, and it oversteps the supposed boundaries of fixated reality," and Carlos _knows_ right then that he's started to ramble, as he often does when he's awkward or uncomfortable, but it's hard for him to stop.

\-----------------------------

"Carlos, breathe." It slips out without his permission; old quirks, old tics, old habits, affectionate phrases that escape before they can be stopped. He bites into his lip the moment it's out, looks away with a grimace. "Okay, ESP. Clairvoyance. _Nothing special here_." He snaps, and he would have thrown his hands up if his could. " _Lots_ of people have those. People _outside Night Vale_ have that. It's not even particularly _strong_." He got feelings. Dreams. It wasn't like he was running around blowing up trees with his mind. "Nothing to explain why _any_ of you are interested in me. Night Vale I can see. I hate it, but I can see. But you said me. So _why_."

And he honestly doesn't know. There are things about Cecil Cecil has no idea of. To him, things like ESP are normal. He's probably lived with it to some degree for as long as he can actively remember; what's odd is he seems to have a very clearly defined line between his normal, which to other people is 'strange, and his strange. From what the things on Carlos's paper say, it's hard to believe Cecil has never stumbled across his extra gifts on his own; seems, in fact, utterly oblivous and more then a little uneasy.

\-------------------------------

The way that Cecil tries to take back his small reassurance by smothering it with malicious snark is more than a little painful to listen to. Though it's not _near_ as painful as the way the broadcaster uses the one tiny word "you" to lump Carlos in with his crazy sadistic employers.

"You're not just.. any other citizen of Night Vale. You play a crucial role in the town. But it wasn't- wasn't like that forever," he finishes, breathlessly (because he is ignoring 'Carlos, breathe'), and looks up at the ceiling while running a hand through his hair. "Something happened."

\--------------------------------

Cecil sees Carlos catch it, knows that his tiny, subtle dig has not gone unfelt, unnoticed.

There is no pleasure in having hurt Carlos, even if he wants there to be.  No satisfaction in the way he flinches, the way he hugs his clipboard to himself. The body language is painfully familiar; he did that when they first met.

Like the bit of wood and paper could protect him, could shield him.  The part of him that loves Carlos finds it cute and charming and wants to pull it away and put himself in  the man's arms instead.  The rest of him, strapped to a chair with Carlos about to do God-knew-what to him, wants to knock it away and tell him to _go to hell_.

There's no satisfaction in that thought, either.

"Yeah, gathered that." He snips instead, still catty. He can be a bitchy little diva when he's in the mood, and it seems this is the mode he's switched to

\-------------------------------

Carlos can deal with bitchy if he has to. In fact, he'd far _rather_  deal with that than he would with certain _other_ sides of Cecil.

"I know," he continues cautiously, "that you don't remember what happened. But they want to know." Like fuck would he ever say 'we'. Dana's right. He's not truly with Strex any more. "And I'm not sure they'll stop until they can find out."

\-------------------------

Fear again, touching his eyes, his face. His hands twitch and move; Cecil is incredibly tactile, and being restrained is hell in and of itself for him. He talks with his hands, with grand gestures and sweeping motions.

"Call me biased, but I don't see how whatever happened to me is any of your business." _You_ , again. He's lumping Carlos in with Strex because it's the only way he has to lash out, to hurt, like a fox in a trap.

He's biting everyone's hands, even the ones that are kind. It's only because he's angry and hurt, not because he means it, but it stings all the same. "What the hell does it even matter? I was a kid, something  _batshit insane_ happened, Welcome. To. Fucking. Nightvale." He lurches against the restraints. clenches his fists. "Everyone has had something happen, mine is just a little creepier and more ominously terrifying than most. In case you haven't noticed lately, it's not exactly Kansas, Dorothy. Night Vale is Wonderland, it's Oz, and you don't get to be born there without it touching you somehow. _Everyone_  born there is- for fuck's sake, there is a man's hand wandering around going by the name _Megan_ , and _I'm_ the one Strex gets a crush on?"

He flops back in the seat, huffs and makes his blonde hair flop, too. "Fine. Do whatever it is you think you have to do but you're going to be pretty damn disappointed. " Defiant hiss, defiant glare.

"Christ, no wonder it was _Cecil, can I take your blood? What did you dream about? Cecil, come help me. Cecil,Cecil, Cecil._ All for this."

\-----------------------------------

Again, with the commentary on their relationship. Carlos has been in enough small arguments with him throughout their time together that he knows that Cecil will say whatever it takes to express how strong his feelings are, no matter how false the words. Even knowing that, Carlos still can't help but worry that maybe this time Cecil's thoughts are more grounded in belief than mere emotional jabbering.

Carlos doesn't tell Cecil what the paper says about the history of Night Vale Community Radio, or about the past radio hosts. He doesn't tell him that what a radio host does is more than just speak to the audience. That Cecil is one of a few very, very special beings to have ever taken on the role.

"Maybe so," he replies, quiet, "but I doubt it. They're not stupid. They have their reasons."

\------------------------------

"...They have their reasons." Cecil stares at him like he's stupid, like he's someone he doesn't know, someone particularly unpleasant. "Did you _hear_ yourself, just now, a moment ago? Good boy, Carlos. Woof."  He would have been folding his arms, if he could, and as it is the power of his glare is all but burning a hole in Carlos's head. Cecil is more a production then a person; he's dramatic, grandiose, over the top, larger then life and it's _not an act_. It's simply the way he _is_. Dana calls him a diva and a drama queen affectionately (or sometimes less so), and it is in full cry now. In a way, it's a good thing. Cecil, like this, is a Cecil who is, at his core, not _truly_ angry. He may be hurt, upset, angered- but when he is all flying temper and ruffled feathers the wounds can be healed.

It is when he shuts down, goes quiet and cold, that there is real danger. That he does things like make stupid announcements on air.

His words may be hurtful, and terrifyingly close to being believed; but he is in full cry, which means he is still home in there.

\-------------------------------------

_That_ , Carlos has to admit, was true. He doesn't have much of a choice.

Carlos felt the sudden and overwhelming urge right then to tell Cecil just how unfair this is. He has to do whatever StrexCorp wants in order to protect Cecil, and what does he get in return? Insults. Mockery. It _isn't fair_.

But he understands why.

"I heard myself perfectly well," he replies as evenly as he can.

\-------------------------------

Even before all this, there was one thing Carlos could do the _invariably_ lead to Cecil storming out, and that was refuse to react. Don't give him anything to fight against, and he would work himself into knots and then run to Dana, usually to explode on her, get it out of his system, and be done by the time Carlos came looking. But he can't storm away now, and he's more angry and hurt then any simple fight they've ever had. And so the lack of reaction makes him _growl_ , glaring daggers still at Carlos's head. "Then you know how perfectly deliberately vague you sound." He snips, then laughs, broken and jagged. "You really do think I'm stupid. Why you aren't telling me-" Here anger struggles, wants to be hurt, wants to be broken betrayal and _why are you still keeping things from me_ , but he corrects, forces it to be anger again. "I don't know why you're not telling me everything, but I'm going to find out. Mostly, you know, due to those tests you were talking about earlier. The ones you get to run. Am I stuck like this this entire time? Because I'm actually losing circulation to my hands." He closes his eyes again, trying to seem flippant, angry, rebellious...but there is no denying the way his chest heaves.

He is _terrified_.

He hates that he is lashing out at Carlos. Hates that he's hurting him, angering him, because he can see both on his lover's face. But there's nothing else he can _do_ ; it's either rage and snark or break out into tears again, and he's so _done with crying_. This time, when someone says _Carlos, get_ on _with it_ , Cecil flinches. And when he speaks-

-he can't maintain. His voice is small and shaking. "So what, exactly, are you going to do to me."

He is so, so scared. He doesn't- the thought of Carlos hurting him has never crossed his mind, never, not even in his wildest imagination. And here they are, and whatever Carlos says, why ever he says it, he is about to _hurt him_ because Strex told him to. Carlos, beautiful, sweet Carlos, is going to hurt him. Deliberately.

He feels his rebellion crack and break.

\----------------------------------------

Carlos wants to be able to talk to Cecil the way that he did before all of this happened. He wants, more than anything else, to be able to tell Cecil softly and honestly that the past is the past, and he's not telling him in order to _protect_ him. Cecil would've pouted, but eventually given in, curling up against the scientist and letting himself be comforted.

Now Carlos isn't sure they'll be able to solve anything so simply ever again. And before he can even begin to _try_ the voice speaks, sharply.

Strex doesn't like to give warnings. The fact that they've already been willing to give him two is only because he's a valued employee, and the subject is a valued subject.

Grimacing, Carlos pushes himself up, leaning his weight on his better ankle. He's going to start this off easy as he's allowed; he doesn't want to cause Cecil pain, and so he's going to put it off as long as he can. Although he has no choice about what the experiments _are_ , he _does_ have a little bit of control over when they happen, so long as they're getting done at a reasonable pace.

He pulls a syringe out of his labcoat pocket and removes it from its case, tapping it, pressing in and spraying out  a little liquid to make sure the needle is unobstructed.

"Should barely feel a thing." He says it as though speaking to himself, a quiet mumble. "It'll heighten senses. It'll most likely heighten mental sensitivity as well." It wasn't a huge dose. Just enough to be noticeable; comparable to  when an optometrist dilates a patient's pupils.

\--------------------------------------

Cecil's eyes widen slightly at the needle- he hates them, hates shots and always has to hide his face in Carlos's chest when one is involved for any reason. He trusts Carlos not to make it hurt- the man has drawn his blood before, among other things, but right now it's too much on top of generalized fear and the sound he makes is wounded and muffled.

"Alright." It's quiet acknowledgement, even as his eyes stay locked on the vile; God, he looks frightened, as in in all the world he needs a _hug_. "And then what, we see what happens?" Which is frightening, too. He's been taken over and taken advantage of; he's already  sensitive and open and he knows from experience how effortlessly something can grab his mind and wear him like a damn puppet.

He doesn't want to be even more sensitive, even more vulnerable, but at the same time he's more curious then he will ever let Strex know. Curious about himself, curious about what happened.

Heighten senses. Once upon a time, he may have made a sexual joke, all sly grins and arched eyebrows. Now, though, he just _watches_ , and looks trapped and helpless and frightened.

\-------------------------------------------

_And then we see what happens_. Such a vague phrase, at a glance, but with closer inspection it has rather shadowy undertones. _Anything_ could happen.  In Night Vale, you never know what to expect.

This isn't he first time he's stuck needles into Cecil, no, but it _feels_ like a first. The power differential here makes the act feel so wrong, and Carlos doesn't want this to happen much more than Cecil does.

He nods.

Before he has the chance to back out, he steps forward and steadies Cecil's shoulder with one and, and, fast and efficient, the syringe punctures the skin and the formula is injected.

\--------------------------------

Cecil _squeaks_. It's a tiny little sound, high and kittenish, and it's not the first time he's let it out. He _always_ squeaks when he's pricked, like a reflex, and he always blushes and pouts when Carlos teases him. No teasing now, but that tiny little sound, so involuntary, helpless. It says...something...that he leans into the hand on his shoulder, despite it all, turning away from the needle and closing his eyes. It doesn't hurt, not really. It _never_ hurts when Carlos injects him with something or takes blood from him, it's always painless and swift, and _usually_ Cecil is as curious in the results as  his lover. Now, though, he simply is _afraid_. His eyes stay closed, and he breathes a little too fast, a little too shallow. It's a small dose, but it doesn't take long before he's aware of it; the sound he makes it like an unhappy child. Discomfort and annoyance.

"Not helping the headache." He informs quietly, head still to chest and brow furrowing. His hands and arms twitch, like he wants to lift them, and a shiver runs over his skin.

No.

No, his _skin crawls_. Literally.

It's subtle. Almost non-existent. But there's no denying the _squirm_ ; the way the beautiful, intricate patterns that cover Cecil's arms and neck twitch and writhe, like something long dormant being poked with a stick. Like hibernating snakes waking prematurely, all rattling annoyance and hissed anger.

Twitch-jerk, head to right shoulder, right shoulder to head. Squirming, though it doesn't seem totally voulentary. Lips pulling thin. Not pain, still just obvious discomfort. He makes a protesting little sound, holding his breath on reflex.

\----------------------------------------------

Whenever Cecil made that sound and that expression in the past, Carlos had teased him until the mood lightened, and then pressed a gentle kiss to where the needle had been inserted. _See? All better now._

Only, this time, _nothing_ is better now. And he can't bring himself to get close enough to kiss him.

And then something happens - something unfamiliar - and he feels what is almost like a slight electric  tingle in the air. He backs up a few paces, just for good measure. It isn't that he's scared. It's only a precaution. Because he's heard about all of the odd little things that Cecil does, and so he has no idea in what way the formula would take effect.

"Breathe," he insists, all wide eyes and tensed frame, watching as the lovely markings on his lover's skin twist over the surface. He'll take notes later. Right now he is far too caught up in whatever is happening. "Remember to breathe."

\---------------------------------------------

" _Carlos_." It slips out, it slips out and he doesn't care if he's angry or hurt, doesn't care what's happening and where is he, he just wants his lover.It hurts, and he feels sick, anf the feeling in his stomach is pure dread. His hands close into light fists, His head pounds, his skin feels over-heated and raw, and he wants a cool shower and to curl up with Carlos and _sleep_.

He does listen. His breath hisses out between his teeth, shudders slightly. It's constant, the movement over his skin; you have to look for it, it's so subtle, but it's happening. They move like cats, like snakes, and Cecil twitches again. At long last his eyes open, though it takes a moment for them to focus. The charge in the air intensifies, just a little- almost _sharpens_.   The color of his pupils has darkened, like the sun set behind them; not black, but a darker shade than normal. It's all very subtle but so  noticeable, and when he hisses out a breath this time it almost literally hisses.

"How long, exactly, will this last?" Christ, his head is trying to explode.

\---------------------------

The way that Cecil changes is difficult to describe and difficult to place, despite how strong it is. He's not different like Kevin; this is completely different. Kevin is all dead cheeriness and numbed emotion. Cecil - or, honestly, this _version_ of Cecil - is something raw and powerful.

And ancient.

"I-" when he hears his name, Carlos feels a deep ache in his chest. He's cared for the radio host throughout illnesses and injuries alike, and he knows that tone of voice as well as any other.

"I don't know. Hopefully not too long."

Carlos sees Cecil in need and despite and he approaches. Reaching out with one hand . Reaching for _him_.

\--------------------------

The air on both men's arms twitches, stands up, and the second Carlos approaches it's like a _wall_ goes up. The air around _smells_ wrong, like electricity, like static, like _sulfur_ , and Cecil offers a low, tiny cry; pain and surprise and he drops his head again, reaches out in a way that is purely _help_ , lurches against his restraints and it _hurts_ , it _hurts_ , and he doesn't even know he's saying it out loud, let alone how broken he sounds, how his voice is strained and gasping. And then he's not saying _anything_ , just sitting with head bowed to chest and eyes closed and the subtle, constant movement of those tattoos.

And a growl that rumbles from the base of his chest that is nothing like human. It sounds like every possession movie ever; the sounds the possessed made, feral and raw, a _come no closer_ warning sound and the lights in the room wane, fade, flicker.

And then Cecil looks up, and his eyes are a solid, unbroken sea of purple-black, no pupil, no iris, and as cold and dead and empty as a shark's. Old, old, something so old and something that is, undeniably, _malevolent._  

_Stupid._ Says a voice in Carlos's head. _Typical._ It is and isn't Cecil's voice; and the hate in it is thick and tangible. And it _is_ hate. Loathing. Disgust. _Let me go. Let. Me. GO._

And then pain. From his wounded ankle, but fresh, like someone is gripping the wound and _twisting_.

_ And then run. Run and run and never look back. Or we  will kill you all. _

\----------------------------------

He's afraid.

He's been afraid _many_ times in Night Vale, of animals raining from the sky, of street cleaners, of tiny cities, of being watched 24/7. But there's always also his fascination with all of these abnormal occurrences, and, he has to admit, a bit of a thrill of putting himself out in the field for the sake of important research and scientific integrity. Never before has he let that fear override him.

But the man sitting in front of him is Cecil and yet _definitely isn't Cecil_ and all that he can feel is fear.

A sudden white-hot searing pain shoots up his leg. Carlos buckles to his knees, clutching at his ankle and staring up at whoever-it-is with agony and horror and confusion.

"What," he pants through gritted teeth, " _are you_." It's more of a demand than a question. He needs to know who would dare control Cecil like that.

\-------------------------

The eyes blink, slowly, less, it seems, because they need to blink and more as a reaction. It's slow, amused, and his lips tip up in a horrible smile, empty and meaningless. This time, it speaks out loud, using Cecil's mouth, Cecil's voice, but it is deep. deep, deep, and each word slow like molasses. Like something unfathomably _huge_ is speaking, like it has to concentrate to use lips and mouth and tongue. It sounds, oddly, not entirely unlike Cecil's Radio Voice; the same deep pitch, the same careful enunciation.

"I am the dog park." It says, head canting, looking at him like he is an insect. "And the Void. I am the Whispering Woods and I am the wastes. I am air and sky and sun and clouds and _I am everything_. And you are so impossibly tiny. Tiny and  insignificant and you _dare_ to walk _my paths_ and invade _myself_ and bring pain and threat with you. And then you take _my Host_ and you force me to wake, drag me from comfortable slumber and demand _anything_ of me? _How dare you_." The pain intensifies,and it's clear that Cecil's hand is in a fist now.

"Do you even understand? Or must I be more clear? Do you realize, little scientist, the tiger you have by the tail?"

The lights flicker again, and the camera watching them abruptly _explodes_ in a shower of sparks. Someone is shouting, and the door tries to open.

It fails, and despite the obvious attempts from he other side, doesn't open again.

He's trapped.

"And you walked into the cage. Stupid. You are all so _stupid_. And you will pay so dearly."

\----------------------

Abruptly, as the inevitable wave of pain-induced adrenaline clears his mind, Carlos realizes what is happening.

He is not at all reassured by this realization.

He'd been bracing himself for the being in control to be a single entity. A ghost of someone long since passed away, maybe, or a previous-and-far-less-friendly broadcaster from NVCR, or maybe even something that Strex had secretly infested him with.

But a _town_ , as anyone should know, is far more dangerous than a single entity could ever be. Far more _powerful_. All of the lives in Night Vale, every single life, as well as every unfelt earthquake and infinite void spiraling across the skies, were a part of this monstrous _beast_. And that very monstrous beast was what had apparently been sleeping deep inside of Cecil..and, now, what was smirking down at the scientist with more suppressed rage than any of his charts or instruments could possibly record.

He grimaced and swallowed, dry-mouthed, and closed his eyes. His words were more mouthed than actually spoken. "I understand you perfectly."

\--------------------

" _Good_. Very good." It smiles again. "Not so stupid, then, as the others." Cecil tugs at the restraints again- no, not Cecil, _It-_ and this time they creak, strain. They do not break, and it makes a sound of frustrated rage. The lights flicker again. "If you understand, little scientist, then you will undo my bonds and you will _run_. You will run like you have never run and you will not be fast enough. I will _destroy you_. All of you, slowly, one by one. Let. Me. GO!" On the last word, the bulb finally explodes overhead, and the twinging pain in Carlos's ankle turns red-hot, white hot, fire spreading up his leg, like claws digging into his flesh. The silence is so complete it's as if he's been thrown underwater- nothing but a soft, distant sound like is like howling, like far-off screaming.

Backup lights flicker on, and it stops. Cecil is sweating; it rolls down his face like he's been running miles, his chest heaves, like he can't quite catch his breath. He's started twitching again, involuntary, helpless. "You have no right." It growls, still with Cecil's lips. "No _right_. You would destroy everything that I am- you would destroy _my people_ \- for what. Greed? Curiosity? Both?" It pulls Cecil's lips back and _hisses_ , literally, like a snake.

And as it does, the tattoo of the third eye on Cecil's forehead opens. Like paint coming to life on a canvas, it glides open smoothly, revealing a purple, smooth surface, like the two looking at him already, though this bears a split, cat-like pupil.

" _You consume. Infest. Destory. You are insects, you are plagues, and I will not let you continue._ "

\-------------------------

For a moment the room is black and almost completely silent and Carlos... now curled on his side with muscles convulsing in agony and heart nearly hammering its way right through his rib cage, his possessed boyfriend doubtlessly watching him even in the pitch blackness ...thinks that this is when he is going to die.

When the backup lighting comes back on, the thought still hasn't left him.

He finally manages to wrench his eyes open enough to look up and see the eye. This is unreal. Impossible. _Absolutely horrifying._ And the strain that Cecil's body is going through is apparent, clothing sweat-soaked and limbs tense and twitching.

"Is Cecil..." he chokes out, and doesn't notice that this is the first time he has said the broadcaster's name aloud since he was dragged in, "..still in there?"

\------------------------------

It watches Carlos like you might watch an insect struggle on it's back. Blinks at the question, and It shows no trace of Cecil's struggle for air in It's voice. "Of _course_ he is." It snaps, and it sounds _offended._ "In a sense, at least. He is, you might say, _backseat_ in Our mind. Where I usually am, but not as deep."  For the first time, something other then anger. Confusion. Even a little curiosity.  Almost as if the mention of Cecil has soothes It, in some odd, unnameable way. But then, It is obviously ferociously protective...and It called Cecil _my Host_. Mine-very possessive.

The pain lessens, slightly, lets up, and the third eye rolls to pin Carlos with an utterly unblinking stare; as if seeing right through him. "Why do you care? I am what you wanted, am I not? I will not allow you to harm him. I will not let you hurt any of me, any of them, any of _we_." A threatening rumble, the effect ruined by the way Cecil's breath hitches painfully, wheezes on the exhale.

\---------------------------

Although the pain has only lessened a little, that little bit has made all the difference. Carlos gasps, partially for air and partially with relief. He'd assumed as much; if Cecil had cohabited with it in the background for so long, then it would only make sense that, when it took control, Cecil would still remain. It was protective as hell of him. It would never  just boot him out of the mind entirely.

Carlos heaves himself to the side, pushing up onto his elbows so that he can look at it more clearly. "Y-you can still access his thoughts, then. And his feelings. Cecil knows who I am, and he knows that I'd never hurt him. Go look." And Carlos's realizes right then that he has balanced his life on the assumption that _Cecil knows he'd never hurt him_ despite _all of this_ , when, honestly, he had every right to believe otherwise. But it's too late to take it back, and it's the only chance he has left.

\--------------------------

It stops. Stares at him for a long moment before curling Cecil's lips in a sneer that looks painfully out of place on a face that is normally sweet and smiling. "So desperate to save your own pathetic hide." It mutters, eyes narrowed, but there is still that trace of curiosity- and the realization that _it_ must know him, too, in some way. After all, he _was_ part of Night Vale, though he hadn't been born there. This _thing_ would have a deeper tie to any native, but surely would know who and what walked it's streets.

And for some reason, it is listening.

It blinks, then, slowly, the third eye slides shut. The other two eyes stay open, focused on Carlos hard and unflinching, for a full minute, before they, too, slowly glide shut. Nothing happens for a frighteningly long time; no movement, no sound but the harsh, wheezing breaths and twitch-jerk of muscle spasms.

And then, slowly, the eyes open again, land on Carlos. And what follows is, if possible, even more terrifying; it speaks _in Cecil's voice_ , perfect mimicry. " _He put his hand on my knee and said nothing. And I knew what he meant. I felt the same. I leaned my head on his shoulder_." It pauses, blinks slowly. "I do not understand this thing." It says, back in it's own voice now. "But it is strong and unwavering. It is _do not hurt him please don't hurt him_." Cecil's voice again, and how eerie, to hear him beg without changing expression. " _Please stop_." Back in the rumbling, deep voice- "And so because my Host wants it more even then freedom, _you_ -and only you- have nothing to fear. For now."

\---------------------

It's Cecil's voice all of a sudden, _Cecil's voice_ , and the beginning of soft sound not unlike a whimper manages to escape Carlos's throat before he cuts it short. Sitting with one another and looking up at the lights above the Arby's. Of all of the times that they have spent together, good and bad, normal and bizarre... _that_ is the one that Cecil chose to use to describe who the scientist is to him. What they are to each other.

Carlos understands... not the lights above the Arby's, not literally. He understands what Cecil is saying-without-saying.

And that is all that really matters, isn't it?

Carlos fists his hands in his hair, trembling. Tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes and his whole body aches, but he's grinning. Fuck the Strex employees banging on the other side of the door, fuck everyone who tries to make them hate each other. Because he _understands what Cecil is saying_.

"T-thank you," he whispers. To Night Vale, to Cecil. To both of them.

\-----------------------

And amazingly, it smiles.

No.

_Cecil_ smiles. Through the unbroken black-purple stare of a monster, the writhing tattoos, the gasps for air and the way he now looks very close to passing out...he _smiles_. It is soft and loving and nothing, nothing, _nothing_ can make them hate each other. Fear each other, angry at each other, hurt and broken and sad and  devastated, but they will never _hate_ each other. It is his Carlos, his Carlos with beautiful hair and beautiful eyes, his Carlos with annoying habits and cat allergies and emotional  clumsiness, his Carlos, wonderful and imperfect and perfect to _him_ , perfect for _him_. And he understands. They understand.

Cecil feels a surge of pride, locked away in the back of his own mind, hearing and seeing but helpless. Pride and love and it shows through on that smile, like the sun breaking through dark clouds.

The creature- Night Vale- cocks it's head again, blinks in that slow, ponderous way. "You are so odd, humans." It informs him, Cecil's smile fading. "I suppose the correct reply is _you are welcome_ , though I'm unsure that is...appropriate or adequate. Do _not_ make me regret it, scien- Carlos."  It sneers as the door shudders, the Strex workers doing _something_ to the outside, fury entering it's eyes again. It bears its teeth in a snarl but then _shudders_ , hard, and closes it's eyes, whining. Whining, like a hurt dog; pain and strain and- "Too much, little one. I am sorry." Before turning back to Carlos. "He will be in some considerable pain.  Waking me is _dangerous_ , as much for him as for you. Continue to do it and I will not be responsible for what happens to him. Kill him, and nothing he says will matter. You will only be another dead body staining the dirt with your blood." It pulls a deep breath, then, surprisingly, more softly-

"I do not understand 'love' the way you do. But he is mine. They are mine. And all we wish to do is exist. If you love him, help him. Help  _me_ . Prove to me that you are more then I think you are and  _all_ that he thinks you are." And then it closes it's eyes again.

They stay closed for a long moment before opening but it's just eyes, just Cecil's eyes, and the tattoos are just tattoos, and then he is doubled over and twitch-jerk shuddering and  _begging_ Carlos to make them  _go away_ ,  voice a whisper, thick with pain. "Loud." He whines, then, "Carlos Carlos  _Carlos_ -" Reaching out, not caring where they are or what's happened or who is there, wanting- needing- his lover. His head is screaming and his stomach is churning and he is terrified at what just happened, and he  _needs Carlos_ , right now,  _right now_ . " _Please_ ." It is the voice he uses when he needs to be held, when he needs solidity and steadiness.

And when he knows Carlos needs, too.

\------------------

Carlos knows that smile, the openness of the affectionate expression so strong and genuine that he can almost literally _feel_ that kindness radiating. The dark glassy eyes and wheezing and sweat do nothing to hide that smile from Carlos. He'd recognize him anywhere.

Before he knows it.. Cecil returns.

He winces and curses as he gets to his feet, and half-limps half-falls toward the other. He lands on his knees in front of him, reaching up to hold Cecil as best he can. "I'm here,

I- I'm here for you," he says softly with a tear-strained voice, and kisses Cecil's wrist, his forearm.

He grimace-grins up at the broadcaster through his tears, unable to find the words to say what had happened and _just how much_ it had _meant_ to him.

Something - a plan? A suicidal mission? - begins to fall into place in his mind. He says nothing. For now. He just glances behind him sharply as the door shudders again, the impact making the floor vibrate. "T-the recorder and camera are off," he said quickly. "Don't give away what just happened. I will make something up. Take my cues." And he looks up again, trying to meet Cecil's eyes, because it is crucial to that he understands.

\---------------------------

He whimpers, the kisses make him _whine_ and he gropes for Carlos, frantically, grabs his shirt, his coat, and pulls him up, up, kisses him full on the mouth. "I'm sorry I hurt you I'm sorry." He gasps out, over and over. "It hurt you I didn't know I don't- know what that- I don't- I- I'm sorry." And then Carlos is half-grinning at him, _grinning_ , and he can't help but answer it with his own because Carlos should be terrified of him, should be horrified and running the other way but he's _not_ , he never has. No matter what Night Vale has thrown at him, no matter what has happened between them, Carlos has never run, never once, and he looks so brave, he _is_ so brave, so strong no matter what he says about himself. And he looks into Carlos's eyes and knows that _Carlos_ knows and he laughs. Carlos knows, Carlos saw, and heard, and _knows_.  It's wet and semi-hysterical and broken, but it's a laugh. It cuts off as the doors slam again, turns into a moan.  It takes a minute before he can open his eyes, doubled over in pain and shuddering, but he does. He can _feel_ Carlos looking at him hard, and he meets his lover's eyes, quirks a smirk.

"Take your cues." He repeats, and his voice is weak and tiny and hurt but steady. "Don't give it away and take your cues. I can do that. I think I can do that." He closes his eyes, takes a breath that catches in his throat. He pulls Carlos in for one more kiss, because he needs to, because he _has_ to, cuddling into the man's awkward embrace for the  brief moment they have. "Be careful." He begs, simply, softly.

\--------------------------------

It's been an millennia since they last touched, and Carlos wants to never break the contact. Cecil is soft and warm and he _feels_ the same, _smells_ the same, his lips even _taste_ the same. He wants to say not to apologize but he knows that would just spawn an argument about blame. So he gently pats Cecil's thigh. A small reassurance, but a reassurance nonetheless.

When the scientist is pulled into another kiss he leans into it, a sort of desperate neediness and longing, because he knows it won't last very long.

Carlos closes his eyes for what feels like a long moment before pulling away, letting go, crumpling to the floor, forcing in a deep breath and then nodding. "Be brave," he replies. His eyes open.

So do the doors.

\---------------------------------

It's Carlos. It's his Carlos, soft and warm and smelling of sharp chemicals and sweat and blood, now; smelling like sweat and the disinfectants of a lab and a soap and shampoo that aren't what Cecil is used to from him but still _Carlos_. It still tastes and feels like him, still his soft silken hair and chapped lips and he hates it when Carlos pulls away. He curls up as best he can, which isn't very well, resting his head on his own arm. His breath comes in wheezing little exhales, pants that end in whimpers, because he can't help it. It _hurts_ , and he can't hide it; his entire body screams pain.

But Carlos has asked him to be brave, and he knows Carlos is in agony, too; has to be. So he pulls a deep breath,  closes his eyes, and forces himself to straighten and relax.

He can do this for Carlos.

He can do _anything_ for Carlos.

The doors open, and Strex floods the room, demanding, asking questions, wanting answers. Two go to Carlos, two flock to Cecil, who shies away from them like they're going to bite. His eyes, though, stay glued to Carlos.

\----------------------------------

It hurts to do, but Carlos knows what is necessary.

He struggles- not against Strex, but he struggles away from Cecil.

One on either side, they hoist him to his feet, and he clings into them for support. Carlos had looked like the victim here. That is what they had assumed. That is what he wanted; he needed them to trust him in regards to his boyfriend.

"T-the experiment malfunctioned," he stammered, not looking at Cecil, and instead keeping his gaze on the Strex people, wide-eyed, _terrified_. "I- it was far too large a dose, I hadn't- I - I-didn't-" he fumbled, clipboard in his grasp again. "I need to get out of the room, I need space, please, I need that."

\------------------------------

It hurts. It hurts worse than the physical pain, even though he _knows_ it's an act. (And the insecure part of him, the unsure part of him, scared and alone and hurt, whispers _are you so sure_? and has to be squashed.)  He curls his lip in an exhausted sneer, looking every inch the part of the strange and inhuman _creature_ that he had only moments before, and damn but Cecil can do that just a little _too_ well, that unblinking stare and cold, frigidly furious, pain-filled, hate-filled stare.  

But it hurts. Hurts even worse when Carlos is carefully, even gently escorted out, told he'll be checked out by a medic, take a seat, Carlos, wait here. He is asked what happened to him, if he is hurt, and told in no uncertain terms  that he _will_ be given a full examination. No chances will be taken that something was done to him.  Cecil watches them go with no trace of it in his eyes, just that cold, cold stare- twists away from hands that try to grab him and growls darkly in his chest. Every inch the dangerous experiment, perfectly playing up Carlos's words, acting his role.

\-----------------------------

He knows Cecil can do this. He is good at acting, he's strong, and he is determined. It will no doubt be an unpleasant experience for Cecil - but it must be said that it will in no way be pleasant for Carlos either.

It's working. They're so gentle with him. Oh no, an experiment of one of their top scientists may have gone wrong?! What a travesty! What a worrisome event. His well-being is of utmost importance.

He tells them (while they are giving him one of their.. rather invasive medical examinations) that the event was only due to a miscalculation in formula effects, and that with the help of suppressants the same result will not happen ever again. He is certain. He knows this because of science. Cecil is not a threat as long as he is contained, and he was wrong, so, so wrong, to have ever believed otherwise.

\-----------------------------

_We're glad you understand that now_ , they tell him, soothing his pain and apologizing for the measures they _must_ take to make sure he is whole and well and himself. They're as kind as it's possible to be, gentle experienced hands and gentle touches and sympathetic looks. Some even seem _honest_ ; one pretty girl puts her hand on his shoulder and seems truthfully sad when she says, softly, _I'm sorry you fell in love with him. You'll be alright._  She smiles and pats his shoulder and moves on, but sends him sympathetic looks the rest of the time.

Cecil is dragged up, dragged to his feet and injected with a _real_ sedative- there is nothing Carlos can do to prevent this dose, and he is barely  conscious when they half carry him into the room that he will be kept in, limp and unresistant in one of the worker's arms, unable to walk.

The room is nice, for what it is- true to Strex form, it is painted to seem better, prettier, _saner_ then it is. It looks like just a room. There is pale blue, fluffy carpet, and a small single-person bed, a tiny bathroom- even a tiny TV and radio, all in compliance with Strex, of course. But the mirror in the room goes all the way around and it two-way, and video cameras blink brightly.

Cecil spends the first hour after he wakes up vomiting in the bathroom. He empties his stomach in far less that time, spends the rest dry heaving helplessly. Eventually he gets himself onto the bed, curls up in a cat-like ball with his face in his knees and weeps. There is sound on the cameras, but Cecil is eerily silent, as if he's trying to hide it, until he apparently passes out more naturally, from exhaustion and pain.

\--------------------------------

****  
  



	12. I Know You Hear Me, so Don't Listen to Me

For the next day or two Carlos rests and is tended to. He closes his eyes while they do what they do, and tells them about what he believes happened; that the overexposure to everything was too much for Cecil's mind to handle, and that he snapped. The result of that would be psychological scarring, he said, but nothing that couldn't be dealt with or overcame for the sake of research.

He's calm and quiet and serious. He's emotionally distanced. The perfect scientist.

 _Good boy, Carlos, woof_ , Cecil had sneered.

During that time he checks the room where Cecil's being surveyed a couple of times, just to make sure. They are taking good care of him. Luckily. And Carlos has to make himself stop from checking in more frequently, as that would raise suspicion.

Finally he was ready to come back and continue work. Albeit leaning on a crutch, but, hey, everything can't be perfect.

The alarm near the door made a shrill beep as it scanned him, confirming his identity, and the door slid open.

 ------------------------------

 

Cecil is not abused. He is, for the most part, largely ignored; Carlos is the scientist in charge of his case, and Carlos is down for the count. He can't get anyone to tell him how he is, and eventually stops asking; they won't talk to him. He is fed, he is given clean clothes, he is even given pain medication when the headache _will not back off._

Honestly, for a few weeks, Cecil is more _bored_ then anything. He's going stirr-crazy in the tiny room, with nothing to really do; he watches the TV they allow him to watch, reads the books they allow him to read, plays music they let him play, and then smashes the radio and the TV one day two weeks in when he is climbing the walls and worried for Carlos and loses his mind until they threaten to sedate him again.

Amusingly, they replace both for him.

They take _care_ of him, like you would a rare animal in a cage; it honestly terrifies him a little when the clothes they bring him to change into _are his clothes_ . They bring him a few changes of clothing, enough for several weeks, and he has a little panic attack even though of _course_ they could simply walk into his house.

When Carlos finally enters, Cecil is on the bed, soft music floating in the background, eyes closed; they snap open when he enters and he scrambles upright, entire body quivering with the desire to run over to him. He makes himself stay put, watching Carlos warily. His eyes go to the crutch, and he makes a soft, pained sound. _I did that. I did that, I hurt him. I hurt him deliberately, intentionally-_

 

"I'm sorry." Screw the cameras, screw the crowd. His voice is tiny and guilty.

 ------------------------------

 

Carlos looks down, gaze resting on Cecil's feet and legs. It'll be way too hard to keep up the facade if he lets himself watch the man's body language, knowing that voice, that expression, no, _no-_

He gives a sharp nod. "Nn." A non-committal sound that gives nothing away. Not to Cecil, not to StrexCorp.

He limps toward him, shoulders hunched and tensed, the crutch sinking a bit into the soft carpet. "You can sit," he says. There's no emotion to his voice- it's just a suggestion. He wants to give Cecil something, to remind him of how much he loves him...but Cecil is already pushing the boundaries of this little plan of theirs, and so it is up to Carlos to stay firmly within his predetermined guidelines.

"Just need to check your heart rate and take a blood sample. Should only take a few minutes."

 --------------------------

 

He swallows- he understands, he knows, but it still makes his heart clench. He sinks back down, draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. "'Kay." And for Cecil to go monosyllabic is _bad_. Cecil talks, is a talker, rambles and blathers and has to be told to shut up, often more then once. Even when he's upset or angry, he doesn't go one-word sentences. He knows better, knows what he's supposed to do, and takes a breath.

Another.

Opens his eyes and it's _gone_. He is cold. He is blank.

He is _Kevin._

 

He shifts  to sit cross-legged, watching Carlos with those unnervingly empty eyes, as if he is nothing, as if he _means_ nothing. Slipped into character with terrifying ease and he pushes up his sleeve on his button-down for Carlos, rolls it up and there are the tattoos- so perfectly still and calm now. Nothing more than tattoos. They make so much more sense now, though; there is not a single one that isn't tribal in some way, some that look almost ritualistic, and how funny is it when you realize the truth behind something how _obvious_ it should have been?

"Why my heart rate?" Honest curiosity; not simply an act. Cecil is so _curious_. "I've been doing nothing but sitting in the room for weeks. And unless you decide to so something stupid- again- I think we're good here." A nasty snip to his tone, but it's hard to tell if that is act or not.

 ----------------

 

Cecil is.. good at this. Alarmingly good. Despite how much that disturbs him, at least it makes it easier to act emotionally distanced. Carlos frowns a little, moving until he is within an arm's length of where Cecil is sitting.

At the sight of the exposed tattoos a small shudder runs through his body. And it's not an act. They may be still now, their twisting and spiraling intricate patterns frozen in time, but behind his eyelids Carlos can see them living and _pulsing with movement_ and honestly that's too much for him to handle thinking about right now.

He swallows, clenching his jaw. "Your..little tantrum was incredibly physically taxing. The adrenaline in your system was off the charts." He hesitates, as though reluctant, and then holds Cecil's arm and presses in the needle. "I need to see if you still have the remains of that event in your veins. It could skew experiment results."

 ------------------------

 

He flinches slightly as he needle slides home, forces himself to focused on Carlo's face. Just his face; no the needle, not the crowd, just Carlos. For the moment he forces himself to only see Carlos. Forces himself to hold the act, the facade, despite the fear he could see on Carlos's own face. He follows his gaze to his own tattoos, and his brow furrows slightly. _Afraid_ of _him_. Carlos is afraid of him and the thing that lurks inside him, and who wouldn't be?

Who wouldn't be?

_I hurt him. I hurt him_

The needle draws his blood and he refuses to look at it. Refuses to whimper. Refuses  to flinch or pull away.Keeps his blank,cold stare as he speaks. "That would be your own fault. Just like getting hurt." It's like hearing an automation talk. No feeling.

No _love._

 

"My 'tantrum'. That's the word for it now? Good to know I'm being blamed for your screw-ups." A snort.

 --------------

 

In his peripheral vision Carlos sees the slight twitch of Cecil's eyebrows and he knows why. It's horrible, and someday he's going to have to talk to him about it, but for the time being this thorn in their relationship will work to their advantage (at least in regards to Strex.

"Well. Regardless of what it was, you certainly _overreacted_ unnecessarily. I should've expected as much from you." It's hard because Carlos _doesn't_ _insult_ people. He's never seen the point, not even when he's furious. Although his face and body language follow along with the words and make them look genuine, they taste foreign against his tongue.

 -----------------

 

"Yes, an unnecessary reaction from someone dragged from his home, lied to, locked away and then _drugged_." He snapped, and God, it was only prayer and hope that he was acting. But there was a twist of what seemed like real anger in his face, in his eyes.  He hears the discrepancy in Carlos's words; it's weird to hear him come that close to insulting _anyone_. Even when they fight, Carlos doesn't result to ad hominem attacks; he doesn't name call, doesn't throw slurs, doesn't insult.

In a strange way, it makes this easier to handle. It is so _not Carlos_ that it lets him put distance between the man he loves, and what is happening here.

"Typical Strex. Hide and lie and redirect blame." He takes his arm back, cradling it to his chest and curling, slightly, over it. Self-protective. Glaring. "Are we almost done here?"

Cecil is far too good at this; his acting skills are surprisingly good, though he's never shown them off before, But his eyes and his lips reveal his true feelings to anyone who _knew_ him. Worry, fear, love, pain.

And no anger. No hurt.

Just sadness.

 ----------------------

 

Carlos has to look at Cecil's face for a moment- not making eye contact, but just looking over the rest of his facial features, the tenseness of the muscles and the subtle twist of his lips - just to make sure.

Cecil may be _angry_ , that would be completely understandable... but under that there were other feelings too. Softer ones with fewer barbs.

"Say whatever you want, it's not going to make a difference." He cleared his throat and gestured with one hand, "Move your arm. Your heart is in your chest, last time I checked." then reached up for the stethoscope around his neck. "Almost done," he confirmed.

 

\------------------------

 "I don't know. Are you sure it's where it's supposed to be?" Snippy and nasty, but that little comment is all Cecil; annoyed, angry, being a little shit. Once upon a time it may have been semi-playful, but now it's just bitchy. Still, he obediently pulls his arm away, settling his hands in his lap.

_Say whatever you want, it's not going to make a difference._

Ironic- ironic because it _won't_ make a difference. Not with how he and Carlos feel for each other, and not with what they will do what they both get out of here.  

Less so because it really _doesn't_ matter. Nothing he said will change what was happening. What is going to happen.

He closes his eyes, fights to keep the act up.

"Then what, I get to pace the cage for another six weeks while you decide who's brave enough to come visit the monster?" Real anger, but it's more like frustration; he's stir-crazy. "I expected more horrible experimentation and less doodling on the ceiling for something to entertain myself."

 ----------------------------

 

Carlos grits his teeth. "Next to positive. But it's either _this_ , or I cut you open to check...and honestly, you're far more interesting in one piece."

He gives his head a small shake before pulling the stethoscope's ear-pieces into place.

"You'll get your wish, then, I guess. More.. 'horrible experimentation', as you call it." The chest piece is held up against Cecil. Carlos looks down, not at anything in particular. His expression is serious but his gaze is distant, unfocused, thinking. "We're ready to resume the experiments. So are you. Enough time has passed."

But not quite. Just a few more days and it would be time.

"Don't you already have things to do in here? If you're getting bored, I can bring you something else. Keeping entertained will help your mental health."

He stops talking to listen to Cecil's heartbeat.

And it's _there_ , it's rhythmic and it's _constant_. It sounds the same as it always had, when they'd sprawl out on the couch together, not doing anything and just laying and relaxing and enjoying each other's company. Head against Cecil's chest he would listen to his heart and silently count the beats, feel the man stroking his hair, lose track, and have to restart.

Through the thin cloth he feels the warmth of his body.

It's been long enough. Too long. Carlos swallows hard and withdraws, pulling the stethoscope out of his ears and shifting the crutch back to get better balance. "You're most likely fine. I'll test the blood just to be sure, but you sound normal."

 ------------------

 

Once, he may have quipped _am I? Why don't you let me show you?_ And watched Carlos realize the implications and blush; once, he may have laughed, reached out to steal the stethoscope to listen to his own heartbeat, to press it to Carlos's chest and hear his in turn; for all the things that made them different, that is the one that is the same. "Yes, Carlos, I have things to do. Boring things. In a tiny square box. A tiny square box wherein I can not _piss_ without someone staring at me." A snorted laugh, bitter and hollow. "Excuse me for being _spoiled_. I'm sorry, I should be happy with my ten foot _box_."

But then his snark cuts short because Carlos has gone silent. Gone silent and is simply listening, and Cecil- Cecil closes his eyes and stops. _Stops_ , and lets Carlos listen. Hear. Lets him lose himself in the past and slips the hand opposite the cameras around to whisper a thumb over Carlos's inner arm, barely a touch, barely noticeable. He can smell Carlos's hair, his soap and shampoo and cologne, hears the whisper of his breath and feels the thump of his pulse and is so glad they don't need words.  Because he whispers _I love you, I_ know _, I know,  it's okay,_ and knows when he opens his eyes that Carlos can hear it without hearing a thing.

And then they pull away, and he _shivers_ because it's cold. He hadn't realized how cold until Carlos's warmth had been so near. "'Most likely' fine. Very reassuring, thanks." He rolls his eyes, flopping over on his side to put his back to Carlos. "Normal." He adds, in a snort. "Ironic that _that_ is the word you chose."

 ------------

 

Carlos hears him.

And he can't do anything about it.

Cecil has turned his back, and Carlos partially turns away as well. "You may be more-or-less insane and have an _absurd_ temper," he says, because direct insults are the only way he can make sure he understands how false the words are - what kind of fucked up situation is that?! - "but physically, you're not all that different from _normal people_. You heart rate is average. What word would you rather I choose? Human? Plain?"

 --------------

 

The amusing thing is, it's the one thing Carlos can say that doesn't hurt at all. Because Cecil damn well knows he's insane and he knows Carlos loves every minute of it; that he would never say something like that to hurt him, never, not in a thousand years.

The comment about the temper is even less believable; when Cecil is riled up- good and properly angry- he's a force to be reckoned with but it's nearly impossible to get him that angry.

It's the best thing Carlos can possibly do for Cecil's emotional state. Still, he forces himself to lift a middle finger over his head without turning around. "You have room to talk about _anyone_ being insane, you freaks and your 'smiling God'. Take a good hard look at Kevin whatever-the-hell-his-last-name-is-it-better-_not_-be-something-like-Palmer-or-I-will-scream, and then you tell me who's insane. And I don't know, Carlos. You're the brilliant one, not me. _Physically typical_ or something honestly you know what _I do not give a fuck_ get the hell out."

 _I know you hear me. So don't listen to me_.

 ---------------

 

In his peripheral vision he sees Cecil lifting a finger and for some reason he has the spontaneous urge to smile, but of course he doesn't let himself. Maybe it's the ridiculousness of it all. Cecil Palmer is a man of words; he always has been, whether said words are spoken or unspoken. Not a man of immature gestures that don't even effectively get across a point. Anger is _there_ , obviously... but that gesture itself was not an angry gesture. It was for show.

Which is reassuring, in a strange, uncomfortable sort of way.

"Are you _ordering_ me?" He says in a stiff monotone. "It's time for me to be heading out, anyway, because I have far more worthwhile things than argue with you. But don't make the mistake of thinking you're in a place to be ordering me around."

 ------------------

 

Bam.

It is  _wondrous_ , the conversation they are having under the conversation they are having, and it's all he can do not to laugh. It feels like they are little boys, communicating in some private Morse code no one else knows, some secret language. "Please." He snorts out, and this time, _this time,_ there is something real in his words. "You're scared of me." You are, he whispers, you are and so am I. "And you should be." That is a lie. Carlos knows Cecil would never hurt him, not really. Not- knows that Cecil is tearing himself apart even for the injury he already caused.

"And _don't_ make the mistake of thinking because  I was stupid enough to let you fuck me that I'm going to let you jerk on the leash." He snaps back. Knows Carlos won't buy it, not for a second, but puts the venom there anyway. "Go play with your toys and _leave me alone_."

 ---------------------

 

"Mm." It's a small laugh, bitter and without humor. "Keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better."

But he is. He hates it, and he doesn't _want_ to be scared, but he is. And although he knows that Cecil himself would never ever want to cause him any pain.... the being inside of him certainly seemed far less sympathetic. _Especially_ in regards to its priorities.

He made his way back to the door with the awkwardness of someone who's clearly never had to use a crutch in his life until now. "If you need something, just say it. I'll be back later."

 ------------------------

 

"Like you give a shit." And that- that hurts to say, because he knows Carlos might take it to heart and he doesn't mean it. Not for one second.

While he might still doubt some truths about their relationship and how it got started;he knows, without doubt or question that Carlos loves him now. Does it still sting? Of course. But he knows if anything he could have said was less true, he's not sure what it is. Of course Carlos cares. Carlos cares too much. Too much for his own good, too much for _Cecil's_ own good, and Cecil loves how much Carlos loves him, most days. Right now, though, he wishes they could both just _stop caring_ for a while.

Nothing stirs inside him. There is no feeling of a sleeping giant, nothing to give away- even to _himself_ \- the _thing_ that lurks restlessly under his skin. He wonders what _it,_ what _he,_ thinks. Believes. Wants.

It listened to him. It let Carlos go. He _remembers_ it, and he knows for a damn fact that has never happened-

-well, he's _pretty sure_ that has never happened before.

"Of course you will." He mutters. "All in a day's work."

 ------------------------

 

The words _do_ sting - and maybe it's because it's such a simple statement, direct and sharp, that it manages to bypass Carlos's mental shields. He quickly reminds himself that Cecil is not saying the words genuinely, not at all, and that they are completely false. Doesn't change the fact that he cringes slightly, hands tensing a little before he makes them relax.

"Of _course_ I will," he echoes, almost irritated-sounding. "I'm responsible for you."

And with that, he exits the room.

 -------------------

 

And Cecil smiles into his arms; secret, bitter-sweet, small.

 _I know._ And he curls up around his pillow and pretends it is Carlos.

 


	13. Two Sides to Every Coin

More time passes. Carlos comes back and brings him a little tabby kitten for an hour or two; it belongs to the Strex girl who whispered _I'm sorry_ and she gives it to Carlos and says he should let Cecil play with it for a while. For the time the kitten is there Cecil _lights up_ , spends hours playing with and petting it before the girl goes home for the day.

Cecil cries when the kitten is gone. It's a dumb thing to cry over, but he remembers Koshekh and Koshekh's kittens and _home_ , and the tabby was soft and sweet and tiny and it purred like a motor. It was comforting and warm, and he perched between the bed and the dresser and weeps softly into his knees and just wants to go _home_.

By the time Carlos comes back again, he has stopped, though, and is dancing with himself. It's something he did even before all this; it wasn't unusual to find him in the house, dancing with thin air, and now it seems purely boredom driven as he spins and twirls with no one. He is beautiful to watch; graceful, athletic- things you wouldn't expect from a reporter, all lithe muscle and sleek lines.

And then he trips on the bed and lands on his ass with a yelp, and the spell is broken.

\---------------------------

When the girl first suggests that he give Cecil her cat for a little while, Carlos can't figure out how to respond to her. She's the only person he's seen at Strex besides himself who has acted or spoken with genuine kindness toward Cecil. He's _touched_ by her offer, honestly. He hesitates for a moment for 'serious consideration' before telling her that yes, that would be very good, _thank_ you, with just enough subtle emphasis to convey to her how much this meant.

It's a while after the cat was taken back that Carlos returned to the room with a platter of food for him.

He was.. _dancing_.

Carlos freezes in his tracks as the automated door closes behind him. Cecil is still dancing, and he is lost in his own mind and the imaginary music and he is absolutely /beautiful/ and-

-and the spell is broken.

Carlos can hear his own pulse. He clears his throat. "You... found a... way to keep yourself entertained, I see."

\------------------------------

He stares up at Carlos with a soft flush and wide, startled eyes. He knew, technically,that anyone and everyone could see him; but that wasn't the same as having the door open and Carlos walk in. Pink-cheeked, he scrambled to right himself. "King of the obvious,  I see. You know, I am aware that I'm basically in a square fish bowl, but still, a warning wouldn't go unappreciated." And real huffy irritation in his eyes, though it's not even approaching true anger. It's almost _playful_ , in the way that if this was a normal day Cecil would probably turn it into a game, a reason to be silly and affectionate. Now he forces a steady glower. He pushes into a proper sit, then blinks. Smiles slightly, just a tiny thing, because he sees the look on Carlos's face. It's gone in an instant.

"What is it this time?" He stands, and it's hard not to be intimidated; Cecil is very tall, if slender, and is far more powerful then most people give him credit for because he never _uses_ it.

Oh, and there's the little fact of the malevolent spirit of Night Vale lurking just behind those wide, sweet eyes, under that pale skin.

He doesn't look like someone with a secret like that. At least, not unless you're Carlos, and he's looking at you like _that_ , and it's very easy to believe. This glowering, dangerous creature is nothing like the man who was dancing to imaginary music, like the man who forgets pants in the morning and makes Carlos special breakfasts to surprise him and sings loudly and off-key. This is someone to fear.

"Let's get it over with, shall we? If you're stupid enough to keep playing with fire-"

\----------------------------

The little smile is gone from Cecil's face almost as soon as it arrives, but it doesn't pass Carlos's attention.

At then the man rises from the floor and Carlos can't help but remember _what else_ is inside of that body. Even now he looms over him with a dark and intense presence that Carlos isn't sure if it is deliberate or if he is just imagining things. He shies away a little,  jaw clenching reflexively.

He held out the tray a bit unsteadily and said, "Food. I have food for you." He paused. "And one injection, just a small one."

\----------------------------

"Not hungry." Cecil has gone utterly, _utterly_ still, and it's not unlike a predator; watching prey without moving, an absolute stillness that doesn't _fit_ the normally active, expressive man. But his eyes flicker, and though he doesn't let himself soften, doesn't let himself drop the act, seeing Carlos _flinch from him_ breaks his heart. Shying away like he's a monster, He stares, and sees _real_ fear; not just an act, and it _hurts_. He isn't at all aware of the ominous air to him, even if it's an act; or maybe it's simply Carlos _knowing_ what is under Cecil's skin.

Either way, Carlos flinches from him, and trembles, and he feels honest nausea. Finally moves, and it's to fall back a step. Scared of me, _scared of me-_

He wants to sob. Wants to scoop Carlos up and whispers reassurances in his ear.

Wants to curl up in a corner and hide.

"Are you positive you want to do that again?" He forces the cold, amused tone.

\---------------------------

Carlos doesn't lower the tray. He makes himself breathe - inhale, exhale, come _on_ \- and he looks up to meet Cecil's gaze.

"Only a small dose. And not of the same formula. This'll calm you."

Which, of course, is a lie. It is _absolutely_ the same formula.

"You shouldn't feel anything noticeable though. As I said, it's only a small dose." That part is true. Give Cecil some little doses and his body will have the chance to adjust to the unfamiliar substance.

He sees Cecil take note of his fear. Later, when they're out of here, he will make this up to him and say that he loves him no matter _what_ is inside, no matter _what_ has happened, because that much is true.

\-----------------------------

He stares. There is something legitimately cold in his eyes, something shut down and closed off. That fear _hurt_ ; it hurt, mostly because Carlos always seems so fearless, so bold and brave, and here he is, afraid of _Cecil_. He wants to lash the tray out of Carlos's hands- but he can't bring himself to take a blow at his lover, even for looks. "I'm not. Hungry." He repeats, tightly, jaw setting, hands fisting. He moves over to the bed, sits down on it and the illusion is broken; he is no longer terrifying and intimidating. he is just Cecil again, hurt and afraid and wounded. He pulls his glasses off and presses his fingers into his eyes. It's damn near a drop of the I'm-furious-and-dangerous facade, but his head still aches, and he is so tired.

"I doubt anything you do will 'calm' me." He snaps, but that kitten might help, and he wishes he had it again. He's not sure why someone is being kind to him, but he kind of wants to see her; to ask her what she's doing, in a place like this, with people like this. Wonders if she's like Carlos; a good person caught up with bad people. Then he wonders what made Carlos start with Strex, and the question is out before he can stop it.

"Why are you doing this?" And he hopes Carlos can hear the real question-  _why would you be a part of this? You're better then this. Better then them._

 ---------------------------

He's stubborn, and Carlos knows him well enough to know that when he's being stubborn nothing will make him back down. He moves to the bedside table and sets the tray down.

Cecil is Cecil again; exhausted, and maybe a little bit broken, but Cecil nonetheless.

The statement was probably true. "I can also give you something for the headaches," he offers. The way he rubs his eyes is all too familiar - he used to do the same after coming home from a live reporting expedition or one of Mayor Winchell's day-long press conferences. Helping with the headache is one small gesture of kindness that Carlos knows he can get away with.

He hears the-question-under-the-question loud and clear. He looks down, digging through his pockets for the painkillers. His lips pull into a strained smile. "There are two sides to every coin. Sometimes it's hard to see both." A few small pills in the palm of his hand, held out.

\------------------------

He glances up, a little pain furrow in his brow, looking briefly confused- almost like it didn't fully register for a moment. Then his lips twitch, slightly, and he reaches out to take them. "Thank you." It's low, too soft even for the cameras, and he lets his fingers brush over Carlos's palm maybe a heartbeat too gently, a heartbeat too long. "Do I need to wait?" He tips his head at the needle, and the question is honest. he _knows_ Carlos is up to something, just not completely sure _what_ \- and he trusts him. He'll need to make these last, too, he knows; he doesn't want to rely on Carlos being allowed to do this _all_ the time. And more, he doesn't want to seem like he _needs_ to.

The answer makes him cant his head, real curiosity and abruptly a bright spark of _intrigue_ in his eyes- a reporter's head coming up, metaphorically sniffing the air, catching something interesting. For a moment he looks like himself again, bright and curious, anger pushing aside for what is pure, simple, desire to know. Both for the sake of knowing, and because it's _Carlos_ , and he wants to know anything and everything he can about Carlos.

"You'll forgive me if one side looks rotted and foul, and the other long since decayed." He drawls, but his eyebrows are arched. But he remembers the girl with the kitten.

Bites his lip softly. StrexCorp's workers are just _people_.

\-----------------------

That little brush of contact sends a little shiver of warmth into his skin. "Yes, I'd say so," he replies, eyes following Cecil's hand as it withdraws, fingers long and slender with very pale blue veins under the skin. It's nice, he thinks, that these little details about his lover never change, even when everything else  does.

Carlos releases a quiet, bitter laugh. "I'll explain the full story someday," he says, with just a minuscule touch of discomfort in his tone, "but today is not that day." He gestures for him to push his sleeve up.

\--------------------

He stops, his expression gentling; he hears the discomfort in Carlos's voice and isn't sure if it's because of where they are or just the subject or _both_. He drops it for now, setting the pills on the table and pushing up his sleeve slowly. Cecil loves old-fashioned clothing; he has t-shirts and long-sleeved hoodies and normal clothing, but he prefers to dress like something out of some old movie, all button-downs and vests and slacks, frigging _sleeve garters_ ,  and they hug his slender form; hide miles of pale, delicate flesh and in an odd way they're remarkably sensual- but they're not always practical, and he struggles with the sleeve for a moment before old, old instinct takes over _oh yes we can't do this right now_ , and with a huff he extends the arm in a clear _you do it_ way. obviously not thinking, frustration and exasperation on his face.

He realizes what he's done a moment later, flushes, and instantly re-claims the limb, going back to wrestling up his own sleeve. His flush is deep, honest, and there are tears in his eyes that have nothing to do with annoyance at his cloths.

\---------------------

At first Carlos can only tell that something is somehow _off_ , but then Cecil extends his arm.

The scientist freezes.

He is saved a moment later when the arm is being withdrawn. His throat constricts, hands curl into fists. He isn't angry that the other has let his cover slip; just _terrified_. Cecil has blown his half of their facade, and now it is up to Carlos to make the other half as convincing as possible.

He waits for Cecil to finish getting his sleeve up before taking his arm in a firm grip and giving the injection. "You waste my time with this _nonsense_ ," he snaps, and to anyone would sound actually /frustrated/. He needs Strex to believe him. He's almost there. And there is no way that he can afford to take any risks when he's this close.

\--------------------

He gasps. It's not an act; Carlos is never rough with him unless it's playful, and the grip doesn't hurt but it _does_ , and he winces, tensed, trying to pull away on instinct. " _Ow_ dammit!" he snaps, and the pain and sudden fear in his voice is not faked. He looks, for a moment, like he might lash out to free himself but stops; stops himself with pure force of will.  The injection is hard and fast, and he gasps again, jerks to try and pull away on instinct and jars the needle, cries out and then it's done, it's _over_ , Cecil is full-blown struggling. He's not thinking, that much is _very_ clear- he's simply overwhelmed and reacting, and this is not an act. Cecil is honestly trying, frantically, to get away from Carlos, honestly lost in pain and panic and the only thought is to free himself from the thing that is hurting him. He doesn't scream, or cry out- but he keens. It is a low, almost subsonic sound; something felt more than heard. There are no words to it; just a desperate, frightened sound.

\-------------------------

Carlos lets his hold on Cecil linger for a minute longer, fingers pressing into his arm, before releasing him. Watching Cecil struggling feels wrong, so, _so wrong_ , especially because he knows that this is not at all acting. That pain is genuine. That fear is genuine, as is the instinctive struggling against the perceived threat.

"Don't," he says in what almost is a growl, "fight me."

\-------------------------

It doesn't help, of course; he lashes out now, just wanting to be _let go_ ; that's all he wants, and it's panic, fear, desperation, and his other hand abruptly comes up to slam into Carlos's face. It's not a punch or a slap; just a _blow_. " _Get off_." He hisses, gasps for it. The grip is tighter, is painful, and anger is giving way to tiny mews, hitching gasping breaths, and then finally, _finally_ he is still, panting, trembling. "Let go. Let me go." Barely  a sound, barely a breath of a word. "You are _hurting me_ please."

\-------------------------

It's the sudden pain, yes, but it is mostly hearing that out loud - _you're hurting me_ \- that Carlos can't take. He lets go, pulls his arm back quickly and shifts the crutch to the side so that he doesn't fall. "And you say nothing I can do would calm down," he breathes. His eyes widen, in offense, in anger. Fuck. He can barely even do this anymore. "We'll have to see about _that_."

\-------------------------

He curls instantly against the wall, chest heaving, not even processing the words; right now it's simply hurt. Almost like a frightened, cornered animal; all higher thinking has been suspended and he simply is _acting_. Quivering, gasping, the words make him flinch; doesn't even try to hide it, to fix this. Probably isn't even thinking about it. Cecil doesn't panic easily, but now he is in a state of it; his eyes closed, quivering, and when he finally speaks it is to cough a laugh. "Leave me alone." It's more moan then word. at least they won't think anything too much of it; he is emotional and sensitive and they know it. "Leave me alone, please, just get out." Because he can't do this right now. He can't focus, can't pretend, and can't _breathe_.

\--------------------------

_Put your hands behind your head and breathe, Cecil,_ is what he wants to say.

"I'll go for now," he murmurs, and doesn't realize until now how heavily he is breathing, his heart pounding at his rib cage, "but we'll be watching."

With that, he leaves.

Once outside he allows himself to fall back against a wall. He needs to calm down. He needs to be _composed_. For Cecil's sake, he needs to seem as though he was fine with what he had done to him.

**\----------**


	14. Some Positive Company

And Cecil- doesn't hear. 

He whines, curls up tighter and puts his back to the man, a tiny ball of miserable, gasping anger and hurt. 

Someone reports that he smashed the radio in his room again ten minutes later. 

Not long after someone is forced to try to  sedate him and comes out with a bloody nose and split lip. Cecil is not sedated. 

Cecil, apparently, can only be pushed so far. The pills, that tiny offering, are flung away, and instead of crawling onto the bed Cecil, strange, odd, beautiful, quirky Cecil, crawls  _under_  it. Hiding, like a wounded animal. It is dark and cool under there, and the cameras can't see him, and he hides under there. Hides from Strex, hides from Carlos, hides from the way he fucked up and embarrassed himself and the way he's not sure how much Carlos is acting and hides because he's spent too much time letting strangers watch him cry like a child. He needs time to calm down. To get back in the right  head-space, to be able to  _pretend_  again, to not feel like he wants to scream and curse and throw things. He needs time to let the small breakdown  _pass_  without anyone bothering him. 

\--------------------

 

They notify him every time that something happens involving Cecil. He keeps his expression hard, cold, and devoid of emotion, merely nodding an acknowledgement each time. Kevin's the one who tells him about the failed attempt at sedation, and he tells it with a coy smirk.

Carlos doesn't sleep that night. He can't.

It irks him, honestly; because he'd far rather sleep with fabricated nightmares, than lie in bed awake and think about his  _real life_ nightmares.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning he gives up trying and gets out of bed to fill out some paperwork about Cecil's behaviors. A ludicrous number of cups of coffee later- it's a slightly more reasonable time by then, sometime in the morning - he decides that now is a good a time as any to give Cecil today's injection. Just a smidge more than the previous day. And yes, the man will probably be a complete wreck when he comes in, but what can he do? He can do nothing.

\---------------------

 

Cecil is still under the bed when Carlos comes looking. No one had been able to get him out, and any hands reaching under there had been met with teeth; it hadn't been worth it to move the damn bed. 

Most of them had been  _proud_  of Carlos; told him how well he'd done, how professional, how proud he should be. Most of them but the kitten-girl, who had looked at him with sad eyes and  spent several minutes where no one could see her gently trying to coax Cecil out through the speakers in the walls.  _I'll let you keep Tomas_ , she'd said, _you can play with him all you want, sweetie, you have to eat, come on out now_ \- until the others had come back in and she'd turned off the speakers and gone back to ignoring him. 

She keeps giving Carlos such  _sad_  looks. 

(when Carlos comes in there is the kitten, in a box near Cecil's 'room'; a note on the side simply asks him to please put the kitten in with Cecil, and that it's bowl and litter pan are on her table.)

Cecil does not come out when Carlos opens the door. It's not, actually, _totally_  unusual; Cecil has always leaned towards hiding when he's upset, finding small, dark places to curl up. (Carlos once found him folded impossibly, long body curled around itself, wedged between the headboard and the wall of  his home.) 

He does, though, peek out because he can hear the kitten; he's trembling, sniffling, and just barely visible under there. "That's Sam's cat." He whispers, voice hoarse. "Why d'you have Sam's cat?" 

\---------------------

He could maintain the facade well enough.. but then there is the kitten-girl and those  _expressions_ she makes at him, and he is barely able to make eye contact with her before his face flushes in shame and he has no choice but to look away.

Carlos is surprised to find the kitten there. And relieved.

She knows. She  _understands_ . 

The crutch had made carrying the box too difficult, and so he'd left it just outside of the room, and was cradling the kitten in his free arm. (Luckily, his allergies tended to only act up around adult cats.)

"You could use some positive company."

\----------------------

 

Cecil peeks again, scoots closer to the edge of his cave- and normally this would be funny, and charming, and endearing, Cecil in his little broadcaster cave, but right now he just looks so scared and so hurt that it's impossible to see it as anything other then heartbreaking. 

The kitten  _mews_  loudly, and Cecil makes a noise that  _might_  be  _aww_ . 

Scoot, scoot.  Sniffle. And then slender arms reaching out, pleading, only half-out of his cave. "I'm sorry." Whispered. He sounds so  _young_ , abruptly, so young and ashamed and embarrassed, and his voice quivers.  _I'm sorry I ruined it. I'm sorry I lost it. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to do this._ "She said I could see him again. I don't know why she cares." 

\---------------------

Carlos very consciously grinds his teeth together to stop himself from comforting, from reassuring, from coming close and kneeling down and taking Cecil's hands in his.

"Nor to I." Carlos's response is vague, but vague is safe. He takes a few steps forward. Wincing, he bends over just far enough to let the kitten down, and it immediately bounds toward Cecil as though it's  _always_ known him. "I- I don't need your apologies. It's fine."

\---------------------

He smiles despite himself, taking the little thing in his arms as it's tiny motor turns on; it rubs on his face, purring, and he flips it over to tickle it's tummy. It noms at his fingers, still purring, and he cuddles it to his chest, glancing up at Carlos. 

Scoot, scoot. He holds the kitten to his chest, slowly, by inches, making his way out from under the bed. Then he's out, the kitten in his lap, attacking his fingers. He sniffles, rubs his arm over his eyes. 

_I can't_. 

_I have to_. 

Wordlessly, he rolls up his sleeve. His eyes are so dull, so aching, but there's a spark of life there, now, with the kitten in his lap. He extends his arm, the kitten cuddled in the other. Dutiful. Resentful. 

"Just- do whatever you came to do." He whispers. 

\---------------------

 

It's incredible, how much the kitten helps Cecil relax and open up. It reminds Carlos of how when he was upset he'd sometimes seek out Koshekh for comfort and companionship when they were back home.

Carlos hopes that Koshekh was doing alright. For Cecil's sake, if nothing else.

And he'll  _definitely_ have to remember to thank Sam later for this favor.

She is becoming more and more interesting by the minute.

He gives a small nod and approaches. The injection is quick, and, luckily, this time he is faced with no struggling.

\----------------------

 

Cecil watches him dully, cuddling the kitten to his chest. Is silent and still as he is injected; there is no reaction but a twitch and a soft grunt, but it passes. He goes back to playing with the kitten, eyes and head down. He lets it bat at his hair, clamber up on his shoulders and perch, purring. 

And then, on Carlos's arm, light, soft tapping.  _sorry._  It's more honest then his spoke one, a desperate need to make sure he understands. Cecil blew their game, and he can't handle Carlos being angry at him on top of anything else. 

\-----------------------

 

The light tapping surprises him a little, but he understands.

Carlos turns to the side, reaching out to scratch the kitten's head, and as he withdraws his hand he lets his fingers brush over Cecil's. A peace offering of sorts. His expression is tight-lipped, almost a smile but not quite.

"As I mentioned before. Just say if you need anything," he adds.

\-----------------------

 

He nods, sniffles, and grips Carlos's wrist out of site of the cameras for a moment. Holds on for as long as he can get away with before the kitten squirms free, and then it's chasing and attacking his fingers and he's letting it, playing with it, tumbling it over on it's back and laughing when it puffs up and charges him. 

He misses his kitty. He misses  _home_ . 

But this is better then nothing. 

"I need out of here." He mutters in reply.  _I need you back._

_\-----------------------_

 

Carlos feels the soft warm hold of Cecil's long fingers around his wrist. He wants Cecil to not let go of him, but then he has, and he's back to playing with the kitten and laughing and not looking up at the scientist standing above him.

"We're not done yet." He says, and hopes that he'll hear what he means.

Carlos clears his throat. "I'll be back later." And with that, he turns to leave.

\-----------------------

Cecil freezes; goes so utterly still, and then, jerkily, nods.  _I hear you_. He glances up, swallows hard.  _I hear you._  

He tickles the kitten's belly again, "I'm not surprised."  _Please hurry_ . He scoops it up, lets it nuzzle under his chin, took a shaky breath. "Thank you. For the cat." He whispers, trying to keep the sheer emotion- how much it  _really_  means to him - out of his voice. 

\----------------------

 

Carlos pauses in the doorway and gives Cecil a small bitter smile and nod before exiting, the door clanking shut behind him.

He has to explain himself to his higher-ups. They're confused as to why a _cat_ was brought in. He explains to them that having the cat makes him calmer and more cooperative, and it won't get in the way of their tests whatsoever. Sam doesn't get in trouble, luckily; although she's the one to volunteer her cat, Carlos is higher-ranking and therefore considered responsible.

 He only has a day or two left. Wait too long and they'll catch on, or they'll realize  _what_ he's been injecting Cecil with.

 \----------------------

 

Sam gives him a grateful smile when she realizes he saved her ass; she can't think him without risk, but she mouths it across the room at him, makes a little heart with her fingers over her chest and a wink. No one sees, thank God, and it's the only acknowledgement she offers. Everything else is just in the way she looks at him now. 

Cecil  _does_  seem...honestly calmer with the kitten in the room with him. He stops attacking anyone who walks in, though he does give them guff more for the sake of being a pain in the ass then anything else. (It gets him punched, once;  _that_  person is marched out of the lab and no one wants to think about what happens to him.) But the kitten helps, and he spends most of his time playing with it or sleeping with it. 

The next day, when Carlos comes in, he is greeted by a Cecil who looks far more  _okay_ , far more stable. Such a simple thing, but it's enough to  _help_ . 

 


	15. Like a Fish in a Bowl

The next day, the door opens.

The limp isn't quite as bad now- he is still using the crutch, but doesn't need to lean on it quite so heavily. The kitten is curled in Cecil's lap, and its ears perk up at the sound of movement.

"How've you been feeling?" He's holding a clipboard in his hand.

\------------------------------

Cecil's eyes are calmer; his body language less brittle, less volatile, and he tickles the kitten's ears as he offers a tight, tired smile. "Better." He whispers, and it's tired and soft but honest. "Head still hurts, a little." The pills had been scattered, but he'd found them, one by one- they helped. "Calmer." Which was also true. The kitten helped; fuzzy tabby therapy, and he smiles a little at the thought. He's always loved soft, fluffy, cuddly things, but they dog or cat or person or other, and he laughs a little as the kitten headbutts him. He stands, gently setting it down on the bed. Already he is obediently unbuttoning a sleeve, and his hands tremble, but he gets it on his own. He can  _feel_  what Carlos is doing; feel it stirring, sleepily, sluggishly, under his skin. 

Except now, for some reason, it  _spikes_ ; it's too weak, too fuzzy to do anything, but it's a surge of anxiety that makes his chest hurt and stomach clench, brow furrowing in confusion. He's not sure why that  _thing_  inside of  him  is abruptly upset and restless, but he rubs at his temple, willing it to settle down. Trying not to feel sick and dizzy and shaky, he sits on the edge of the bed. Waiting. 

 \-----------------------------

 

"Wait. Hold on a moment," he holds up the clipboard, "not yet." A bit awkwardly, the scientist makes his way to a chair by the wall, and moves it closer to where Cecil is sitting on the bed. It's a simple chair, wooden, and light, and it's a surprise that during his earlier rages Cecil didn't throw it around enough for it to be confiscated.

 "I... I filled out the questions about you earlier. But now you've been here a while, and I don't _know_ the exact answers to some of here. Would you mind if I asked you some things?"

 \--------------------------------

 

"...Questions like what?" Cautious, confused, concerned- Cecil gives him a look that is all wary mistrust and surprise. Carlos knows him, knows almost everything about him\- so why would he need  _this_? Is it part of the act? Why is he doing it  _now_? There is caution and worry on his face, but he shrugs. "O-okay." He allows, pulling the kitten onto his lap. It's Carlos. No matter what, he can trust Carlos. Whatever he's doing, there has to be a reason for it; and questions are just- questions. Besides, he can lie, if he feels like he needs to. "I mean- why not? I don't know what you don't know about me, though." A scoff, more to stay back in character then anything, trying to fix his earlier slip. 

 But at the same time, it's rather true. What on  _earth_  would Carlos  _not_  know about him? 

 \---------------------------------

 

He folds and unfolds his hands, twiddling the pen. "I'm not psychic, remember? You just told me how you're feeling, and I didn't know any of that." Cecil seems a little bit on edge. It makes sense, in a way, but it's a  _different_ sort of tense than usual. Almost  _suspicious_. That's peculiar.

 "Have you been feeling any different? The injections weren't especially strong, but they were strong enough that you should be feeling  _something_ at least."

 \---------------------------------

 

Cecil blinks, his brow furrowing, lips parting in something that almost wants to be protest; he understands that his breakdown the other day was a massive fuck-up, and he knows that Carlos is... _stressed_ , to put it lightly. But the edged, biting tone in his voice isn't normal, even for an act, even for being  _angry_  or upset. Something is  _wrong_ , something is  _off_ , and that crawling, itching sensation springs up under his skin again.

 He has the strangest, more foreign, most terrifying urge to  _growl_. 

 He doesn't. He bites it back, forces himself to take a deep breath. It's Carlos; just Carlos. 

 It's just that something is  _wrong_. Cecil has grown up in Night Vale; whatever oddness is going on with his memory, he still knows enough about  _strange shit_  to have a fairly decent inner alarm system.  He doesn't always listen to it, and quite often ignores it willingly, but that doesn't mean it's not there. And it is yelping an alert now. 

  _Something. Is. Wrong._

  _Run_. 

 But he can't run.  He's trapped, trapped with Carlos(?), and he holds the kitten a little more tightly. 

 "...Not very hungry anymore. Sleepy all the time." At least it's not a lie; he  _is_ tired a lot, and his stomach is too knotted for him to eat. 'Sort of dizzy. My head hurts a lot, but then, migraines."  _Which you know about. Should know about. You **know** about my headaches. _

 \------------------------------------

 

So far so good. "Understandable side effects." He nods, brings clipboard to thigh, and jots something down with a quick sharp movement of the pen.

 Gaze comes back up to meet Cecil's. Head tilts slightly.

 "You're nervous."

 \------------------------------------

 

_Shit_. 

The  _thing_  under his skin snarls, and he presses his fingers into his eyes- head pounding, throbbing,  _screaming_ , rubs at one temple with hands that try very hard not to shake. Wrong,  wrong, this is wrong. This is Carlos but  _not_  Carlos, or it  _is_  Carlos and everything has been a  _lie_ , he has been lied to and played like an idiot, stupid, trusting, naive-

"Jee, I can't imagine why."  He snips, feeling himself bristle, the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "I might be  _nervous_  or  _anxious_." He rubs the back of his neck, closes his eyes and tries to will his stomach to settle down. The kitten leaps off his lap to chase imaginary floaties in the air, and he focuses on it, makes himself home in on  _it_  and not the man next to him. The man he doesn't know, Carlos or no Carlos. 

\-----------------------------------

 

The room is quiet. 

The tension that Cecil is feeling can almost be physically sensed, even from several feet away. It's like a faint static in the air. Or maybe it is just that he is paying such close attention to Cecil's reactions that he can sense those incredibly subtle changes.

"You don't need to be anxious," he said softly, gently. "It's just me."

\--------------------------------

 

_Bam_. 

It cements it; Carlos  _would not say that_ . Not now, not pretending so hard to not be  _them_ , trying so hard to not be  _them_ , and he doesn't know if this is Carlos or not but his chest closes and his throat closes and his stomach churns, and he finds himself scooting away. "I'm locked in with a bunch of lunatics that want to experiment on me. I'd say 'anxious' is a pretty natural thing to feel." He replies sharply, his eyes narrowed, watching Carlos like  a cornered animal. "You wanted to ask questions." He murmurs, "So ask them." He wants Carlos-not-Carlos out of his room. He wants this over with, and this entire ordeal over. 

He hates that Carlos is making his skin  _crawl_ . It's so wrong

It's so very wrong. 

\-----------------------------------

 

The scientist watches carefully. The moment that Cecil realizes that something is really truly _wrong_ registers in his eyes, a dark, almost prickling flicker of emotion.

He  smiles  to himself, just a little bit, the corner of his mouth quirking. 

"So. You've expressed violent behavior while you've been here.  _Prior_ to being brought here, you never were violent to such a degree. Do you believe that the increased violence is due to an actual attempt at self-defense, or was it merely way for you to try to vent your inner frustrations."

\--------------------------------

 

He's not sure how to answer that;  he's not sure what he's supposed to say to, essentially, the accusation that he's  _enjoying_  this on some level. He feels the thing under his skin snarl, growl, and some part of him wants to reach out, take this man by the face and use him to break the glass of his cage.  _And you could_ , it whispers _, you could break this thing like it was made of water._

_It's **Carlos.**_

_No, it isn't. And if it **is** , he has lied to you_ . 

He folds his arms to pin his hands. They  _shake._

 "I-" He stops, feels his throat close, flinches away. He feels like an insect pinned to a board; he feels...he feels like he is nothing more then something interesting Carlos wants to study. Not even human. "I-don't know." It's the truth, sort of. He just wants this man to  _leave_ , to go  _away_. "I'm trapped in a giant fishbowl being tested on and studied. I feel like shit constantly and you-" He stops, swallows, looks away. He feels like a damn  _child_ , and he hates it. "I think I have the right to be frustrated." 

 \----------------------------------

 

He squints at Cecil a bit, and adjusts his glasses.

_Trapped like a fish in a bowl_ . It's accurate wording, he thinks, for a number of reasons. No way to escape. Nowhere to hide, with eyes on all sides. Should the owner decide to stop feeding the fish, or cut off the filtration system, it would either starve or suffocate and neither of those fates would be an especially pleasant one.

"And I  _what_ ?" he asks.

\----------------------------------

 

He feels fear grab him around the throat and choke him; can't breathe, and presses his fingers into his eyes again, pinches the bridge of his nose, head  _throbbing_ , skin crawling. "You-nothing. Nothing, never mind." Because he either hurls baseless accusations or admits that he knows something is up, and he doesn't really want to do either right now. He closes his eyes, rubs the back of his neck. "Please, I'm- tired and my head hurts and- please just."  _Leave me alone_. He's curling up and doesn't seem to realize; slowly, by inches, curling around himself and shrinking, trying to make himself small and invisible. It's something he does even in Night Vale; Cecil never walks completely unfolded, always slouches a little, hunches a little, subconsciously. It's always a surprise when he draws himself to his full height, because at first glance he seems so average in height but then he  _unfolds_  and touches six foot, all long and lean. But it's even more noticeable now; he's trying to  _disappear_ , where as normally it's simply habit.  (Cecil is, surprisingly, actually quite shy. He's one of those people who compensates by being wildly outgoing and friendly, covering it up with beaming smiles and bright energy. So he hunches.) 

"Please. You said you had other questions, I-can we just- get this done?" He manages, softly, barely even voice. 

\----------------------------------

 

He blinks (it's uncertain whether or not he has blinked in the time he has been there. He must have, right? It would make more sense for him to blink) and looks down at the clipboard. "..Hmm. Yes. You're right, I _do_ have other questions that I need to ask you."

With one hand he pushes himself up, leaving the clipboard on the chair, and moves the short distance to the bed. He's no more than a foot or two from Cecil now, leaning forward to try and see his face, elbows resting on knees.

"But we have all the time in the world, Cecil," the name is said tenderly, one could almost say  _intimately_ , "and you made me curious. It's not 'nothing'. What were you going to say?"

\---------------------------------

 

He has never felt intimidated by Carlos. He loves Carlos, loves his proximity, his smell, his warmth and closeness but this is not Carlos. Or this  _is_  Carlos, dropping the act.  He doesn't know, he can't  _tell_ , and that terrifies him. His stomach churns and his heart stutters, and he finds himself shrinking back. Away. Getting smaller and smaller. "Y-you're-" he's stuttering. He almost never stutters, he's eloquent and well spoken and words are his  _weapons_ , good and bad, but now he's stuttering and he can't find them. Can't focus, can't think, and he's too close. Too close, and Cecil's hair stands on end, his skin goose-pimples. The way Carlos- not-Carlos says his name is the way he's said it so many times before, in bed, laying tangled together, before or after or during sex sometimes, and sometimes just  _laying_ , just laying and cuddling and touching and holding because they can, because it's nice, and Carlos whispers his name and it's this. It's  _this_ , it's just like this, right here, that tone and the way it rolls over his tongue, soft and velvet. 

"You're part of this." He manages, and there they are;  _there they are_ . Words, when he needs them, as ever. "You're a part of this, and you're-" He hesitates, because he's not sure what he's dealing with, what he's looking at. Decides to say what he was going to say, and deal with the consequences. "You're a lie." And he phrases it  _very carefully_ . Those little words could mean a plethora of things, and he edges them with barbs and spikes in either direction.  _You are a lie_ . Let  him  take that however he chooses. 

\-----------------------------------

Cecil is more predictable than people say. His emotions are strong, sure, but they are also linked to easily identifiable sources, and pulling the right strings and pushing the right buttons isn't all that that difficult.

To be entirely honest, he's a little surprised that  _more_ people haven't taken advantage of the broadcaster.

He tilts his head, dark eyes narrowing. "A...  _lie_ . Hm." He leans toward him, to make up for the distance as the other shrinks away. "I  _am_ a part of this. Of course I am." The tone is..well, not  _light_ , exactly. But it's almost conversational. "It's fascinating that you chose the word 'lie'. Seems to cover a lot of areas, doesn't it. And I  _have lied_ , I guess." Again, that slight smirk, more to himself than to Cecil. "Maybe it's an accurate choice of word after all."

\------------------------------------

He freezes. His breath catches in his chest,  and every single part of him that was holding on hope short-circuits and frays. He can feel his eyes fill with tears despite his  _damned best_  efforts not to; his throat tightens, and he  _won't cry,_ he  _won't cry_ , he won't be that weak, he's been so damn pathetic, he's so damn pathetic, so stupid, so stupid and naive and- and- he'd said- he'd  _said_ \- he'd- he'd- 

  _And what kept that from being a lie, too?_

_Why would he spend so much time- why would help- why-_

He won't cry, dammit. He closes his eyes and even that simple, basic task he fails at, because he can feel the warmth of the tears down his cheek at the motion. He set his jaw, fights them back. Fights with all his will to make his voice  _steady_. 

"Do. What you came to. And  _get away from me_ ." And his hands come up, grip the shirt inches from his fingers, and Cecil  _shoves_ , knowing he's not as physically powerful but he's also got the other man off balance and the element of surprise. "And  _get out of my face_ ." 

\-----------------------------------

 

The tears. Of course, the tears. Always the tears.

And poor little Cecil tries to look like he's still tough and mean, even with his cheeks already wet and-

It  _does_ catch him by surprise. Reels back, catching himself after a fraction of a second- surprised or not, he has good reflexes. And not only does he not like getting shoved, but he isn't a huge fan of the words spoken before that either. (The kitten has already scampered to the far side of the room, luckily.)

He throws himself forward, pinning the man down on the bed. Hands clamp around Cecil's forearms. "You're  _reckless_ , do you know that? Not to mention  _stupid._ " A sharp, disbelieving laugh, which somehow also has  _actual amusement_ in it.

\-----------------------------------

He yelps in surprise, long legs coming up to try to get between Carlos and himself- but he's pinned, despite it, and he squirms, but the attempt to get free is half-hearted. Even now,  _even now_  he can't bring himself to lash out, to really  _hurt_ , and he feels some part of him wither at the words. Carlos has called him reckless before. Often. But stupid- 

-he's always told Cecil  _you are not_ , every time Cecil calls himself stupid, has always told him he doesn't give himself enough credit and he's more then he thinks of himself as; lies. All lies. Lies, lies, and Carlos knows exactly what words to use, where to aim, and he feels the urge to fight drain away at the laughter. 

He's being laughed at. 

He's so  _stupid,_ so stupid and trusting and wanted so badly to believe he'd found his godsdamn soulmate, he'd wanted to believe he'd been- loved, in the way it had always seemed like Carlos loved him, totally and utterly, and he remembers dancing and laughing and singing and lunch and the lights, the godsdamn lights about the stupid fucking Arby's and had- had he been laughing, then, too? Laughing this entire time, pretending to want to  _protect_  Cecil, laughing at how gullible-

"Get off me before I break your fucking nose." He snaps, and here is the thing, about Cecil's tears. as said before, Cecil cries. He cries easily, he cries often, he cries almost no matter what he's  feeling so long as it's very strong. But it is  _only the way his body reacts_ . It doesn't mean weakness, and it doesn't mean softness, and there is the mistake.

Because despite the tears, Cecil's voice is  _hard as steel_ , and his eyes flash- unbroken. Battered, bruised, but unbroken. 

\-------------------------------------

 

He can feel Cecil going through different stages of emotion below him. In the pale fist-enclosed forearms, the pulse is quick, pounding hard. Bewildered protest, pain and rejection.

And rage.

Pent up rage. Solemn, unfaltering, and  _cold._

The scientist doesn't listen, of course.  But he hears him nonetheless.

Dark curls fall forward, shadowing his eyes. "Break my 'fucking nose'," he says in an even tone of voice, "And we can break a  _lot_ more of you, Cecil, love."

\------------------------------------

It's so much like Carlos. It's too much like Carlos, above him, beautiful soft curls falling into those dark eyes, caramel skin and silver at his temple, hovering over him, pinning him down, submitting willingly to him and he hates himself for being so damn  _vulnerable_. He sucks in a breath, _jerks_  against the hands holding down his wrists violently. 

"I'm not scared of you." He growls, and it's  _true,_  it's so true, he was only ever scared for Carlos and Carlos is a lie, a lie, hates him, doesn't love him  _never_  loved him.  

The rage snaps like a snake striking, and  _like_  said snake, he whips his head up, all the force he can behind it.  _Slams_  it towards the bridge of Carlos's nose, one hard, vicious, deliberate blow. "And don't call me that. You don't  _get_  to call me that." A nasty hiss, even as his head screams, his stomach churns, and he braces for the repercussions. 

\------------------------------------

It happens too quickly for him to try to move. The pain is blinding, explosions across his inner eyelids, and the whole world goes white. It stuns him, his head throbbing, spinning, and for support he reflexively clenches his hands tighter and digs his blunt nails into the soft flesh. Coughs, because both hands are occupied and so he has nothing to clamp over his face.

"Ghh-" He can feel the heat of the blood before he can taste it. A sharp jerk of his wrist and he's twisting Cecil's arm. "G..oing to pay for this," he snarls in a low, choked voice.

\--------------------------------------

A yelp and a whimper, as if from a kicked dog; the struggles become less vicious, trying to get him away, and more trying to escape pain.  His arm burns white-hot, but he  _grins_ , vicious and victorious, because he saw the blow take, saw the reaction, knows that he may be punished but he scored a damn good blow. Blood drops down onto his face, and he twists away with a disgusted grimace. And the worst part, the worst damn part, is Carlos hates him, never loved him, is pinning him flat and deliberately hurting him and he  _still-_

He still feels his stomach  _lurch_  seeing Carlos hurt. But then his own pain is distracting him again, and he pants like a dog, eyes narrowed. "Awww, it'll give you  _character,"_ He purrs, venomously. "I'm sure someone will still think you're pretty." 

\--------------------------------------

 

Cecil's fighting is less intense now but honestly the scientist doesn't notice the difference. He's way too furious and everything hurts way too much. He half-grins back, more grimace than grin, something about the expression very twisted and  _wrong_ .

"Someone probably will," he breathes, and coughs again, sneering, "..but I'm not sure there'll be anyone to think  _you're_ pretty."

\---------------------------------------

He goes still. Panting, gasping for air, he goes still, and that expression- that expression abruptly  _terrifies him._  He forces it back, forces himself to hide it, grins like the blade of a knife and tries to wrench away again. "Good thing I'm a  _radio host_  then." He quips, like he doesn't want to cry from fear, like he can't imagine all the things Carlos will do, now that the game is up."And not on TV. Wow, that'a a real relief, isn't it?" He sniggers, empty and hollow, but he's trying. 

\---------------------------------------

 

Cecil is trying so, so hard. It's admirable, honestly, how determined he is to keep himself together.

It just makes him want to see how much he can poke and prod him until he breaks.

His expression doesn't change; he twists the broadcaster's arm, slowly, enjoying it, feeling the strain of muscles and sinew under the  skin. "Probably true. I could break your voice, though, if I chose to."

\----------------------------------------

 

He whines again, low and breathy through his nose; pain races across his face, and he closes his eyes, brow turned down with it. He doesn't have a supremely high pain tolerance; he's never  _had_  to, no one has ever really hurt him, and he is soft and delicate and pale. Still, he's trying- he's  _fighting,_ and Cecil has more steel under his skin then most people give him credit for.

Still, the threat makes his breath catch, hitch, and his slight struggling turns into something more frantic. He thrashes, tosses under Carlos like a butterfly pinned to a blackboard. It's like threatening to break an artist's hands, a writer's fingers; like threatening to cut out a singer's tongue or take away a photographer's eyes. Outside of Carlos himself- once, anyway- Night Vale is the most important thing to Cecil,  _the most important thing,_ and by default, so is the show. Cecil is proud about very little regarding himself, but his voice his way with words- he  _knows_ how he sounds, when he wants to, knows what he can do with a turn of phrase. 

And the threat frightens him, panics him. 

Carlos's name is the softest whimper on his lips, confused and tiny through the anger. 

He'd been so godsdamn in love. 

And the part that stung more even then this was the fact that he  _still was_ . 

\---------------------------------------

 

Mm. So  _that_ is the sensitive spot. No matter how (at least externally) braced Cecil was against insults or betrayal or lies or guilt, he couldn't stand the idea of losing his voice. In a way, losing his voice would most likely be losing a large portion of his identity. He was the Voice of Night Vale; even StrexCorp had referred to him as such now and then.

The quiet unsteady undertone of the whisper  _Carlos_ is noticed immediately. A beautiful little tremor of vulnerability.

His grimace-grin spreads wider, and he twists the arm further - it can only move so much more before the inevitable occurs. "What kind of  _Voice_  would you be, I wonder? Without being able to speak." He shifts, using his weight to more securely pin Cecil down. "Not  _much_ of one. Not much of  _anything_ , really."

\--------------------------------------

 

A  _yelp_  this time; it's too far, and ache turns into real pain; he's panting, the tears starting up again- but now they are  _not_  just a body's reaction to strong emotion. Now? Now he's just  _crying_ , in pain, in fear, in rejection, in soul deep hurt. The words make him try to wrench away, but his arm is already twisted too far, and he chokes on the pain of it. " _Stop_  it." But it's more of a plea then a demand; the strength is waning from his voice, fear replacing determination, because it's true. It's true, and he knows it's true; without his voice, he's just  _Cecil_ , awkward and too tall and too curious and too silly, without his voice that  _thing_  that calls him it's own would never have even considered him, and he's still not sure what he thinks about it being there but he thinks he's honored. Terrified and unsure and skittish but honored, and without his voice, his  _Voice_ , there is no reason for it to stay with him. 

No reason for anyone to stay with him. He wouldn't be- anything. There isn't anything else he  _can_  be, he knows  _how_  to be, and more, that he  _wants_  to be. This is what he loves; this  _is him_ . 

Without that ability,, he realizes, he doesn't  _know_  what or who he is, and that hurts almost as much as the rest of this. That he is so. Little. 

And the word slips free. The word he's been fighting since Carlos walked in, the word he thought he'd be too proud to utter. "Please.  _Please_ ."

\----------------------------------------

 

Little by little, the fight is draining away, and the squirming and thrashing has become more desperate and half-hearted than ever.  He can't escape until his captor is ready to  _let_ him escape.

He bends low over Cecil, breathing somewhat labored from inability to breath through his nose.

"Don't get me wrong," he murmurs, and his voice is a touch lower now more gravelly, "I take pleasure in hearing you beg. I really do. But begging isn't going to pay for your sins, Cecil, and neither are your tears."

And he jerks the arm up. 

Snap.

\------------------------------------------

 

 He can't even scream. it's funny, because in movies and books, you read or hear about the hero refusing to scream, refusing to give in and give the captor that pleasure. This is  _not the case_. Cecil doesn't scream because the pain short-circuits every nerve, every muscle, his mind whites out in a haze of black and white and he is  _sure_  he's going to pass out but, by some curse or miracle, he doesn't. He's barely aware that he  _tried_ to scream; simply no sound escaped. He's not breathing, and he finally gasps in air and  _now_  there is noise, a broken, jagged, sobbing cry. Not quite high enough to be called  _scream_ , tight and locked in his throat, followed by a another, and then a  _moan_ , from somewhere deep, low, in his chest. 

 Another moan, and he drops his head to the bed, trembling with pain, panting softly, trying not to be sick, stomach churning. He whimpers on each exhale, like a wounded animal, tries to curl around himself. He's dry-sobbing, no tears, simply pain-wracked gasping full body sobs. "Burn in  _hell_." He manages when he can speak again, and oh, there is such  _steel_  under him. "Lying-  _coward_ -" And then, showing both the simple fact that Cecil  _still doesn't realize_ , "-Loved you." in a tiny, broken voice, still furious but so hurt. 

 He doesn't realize. And now he's far too hurt to think about it. 

 \-----------------------------------------

 

_Loved_ .

The word rings in his mind, bold and clear despite the timidity of Cecil's voice.  _Loved_ . Past tense. To have loved, but not currently loving. Slowly, he begins to ease his grip, until he climbs down off the bed and frees him at long last.

Had he known that this was what it took, he'd have done this  _far_ sooner to when the captive had first been brought in.

 One hand comes up to feel the blood, both wet and dried, darkening his nose and running down across his lips. "Your words don't make a difference to me," he breathes softly.

\-----------------------------------------

He curls around himself, soft, broken little bird noises leaving his lips. He sobs weakly, brokenly, arm at a sickeningly wrong angle. The kitten creeps out from under a desk, arches it's little back and  _hisses_  at him before darting under the bed. He doesn't try to sit up, to move; to be fair, he's likely in too much pain. He presses his face into the bed, legs drawn to his chest as far as he can.  _I loved you, I loved you, I wanted to be in love so bad_ - 

_The lights above the Arby's and propose **right**  and petting Koshekh even though you're allergic and - and everything I thought- Falling in love with love. Good job, Cecil. Stupid, stupid, stupid-_

"Guess..not." Is all he can say, rasping and low, and he clutches his broken arm protectively to himself. But when he opens his eyes- they're filled not with sorrow but with  _hate_. Rebellion and anger and defiance.  He closes them again quickly, breath hiccuping in his chest. He moans again, waves of pain spiking and fading, spiking and fading. "Stupid- Cecil. Stupid you, breaking the- breaking the merchandise." He presses his face into the bed again, shoulders and back arching with pain. He's squirming with it, and gives up words for tiny little mewling sounds.  _God,_ it hurts. 

 His arm hurts, too. 

 \------------------------------------------

 

The scientist snatches up his crutch. Cecil's face is buried in the bed sheets and so he doesn't see that the man doesn't actually use the crutch - he doesn't even limp. He carries it under one arm, clipboard in the other, and hesitates by the door. 

 "For now, at least, you've paid for what you've done. Don't push your luck any further," he adds, voice still a little lower than expected, tone dulled to the point of nearly emotionless. The door clangs shut behind him.

 His blood remains, however; spots of deep dark crimson in the pale carpet and the sheets. A reminder.

 \------------------------------------------

 

And meanwhile, in the glass cage, Cecil finally,  _finally_  lets go; the sobs are nothing like the soft tears he's been letting them out, letting them see. These are gut-wrenching, full body sobs loud and echoing off the walls, choking him, one hand buried in his hair, the broken arm pinned to his own chest. 

 When the kitten comes out, hours later, and presses against his chest, he doesn't even move to pet it or push it away. He simply  _lays_ , staring unseeingly at the spots of crimson drying on the carpet. He doesn't react when they call his name; he doesn't react when they threaten to take the kitten, he doesn't react when food is brought. 

 He only reacts when they come in to set his arm, and then it's barely; he doesn't even cry out. It's not quite catatonic- far more like he simply can't work up the will or the energy to try. As if so much as moving is just too much work. 

 Cecil is never still. Never. 

 Until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second that he leaves the room, A SECOND RP / FIC HAS BEGUN.  
> A SPIN-OFF.  
> THERE IS NOW A SPIN-OFF.  
> And you can read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1602650)! :D


	16. Real and Mine

Carlos - the  _real_ Carlos - knows none of this. He is first brought in for a meeting in which he reports the data he's gathered and listens to various officials discussing it, which honestly would have been somewhat dull, if he wasn't on edge the entire time. He is lucky that he is  _good_  at this sort of thing. All analytical professional scientist, no nervous fumbling backstabber.

They also tend to his ankle. (He'll never admit it, but he appreciates the gesture.) It helps, a bit, though it still is kind of swollen, and putting pressure on it for much time at all makes it throb.

Finally, they're done.

He grabs the syringe - this should be the second to last injection, he thinks, it's been long enough. Cecil's had time to begin to adjust.

\-------------------

 

Sam calls him. Her voice is casual and light as she hands him a can of cat food, cheerfully telling him that Cecil's welcome to the cat for a while more if it's making him more manageable. But her  _eyes_ \- they are intense and she's trying to will him to understand something she can't say. Something is  _wrong_. But she smiles and thanks him and turns away without so much as a word. 

The blood, though, is instantly obvious on the floor, the soft, fluffy blue carpet; the bed sheets. And Cecil, in a loose ball, staring blankly into space, arm in a sling. He twitches when the door opens, and he sees Carlos. 

And his lip curls, showing his teeth, showing a  _snarl_ . "I thought we were  _done_ ." He hisses, bristling like a cat, and his voice, that beautiful, smooth voice,  is rasping and raw, painful to hear. He looks like a cornered animal, and for the first time in hours he moves, uncurling from the bed. 

On his skin, the tattoos  _writhe._

_"Get out_ ." Deep, shaky inhale. "Get  _out,_ or I swear to God, Carlos. I won't try to stop it." They both know what  _it_  is. 

 \-------------------

 

 Carlos searches Sam's eyes as she speaks. He knows better than to ask her what is going on, than to press for answers, because he knows by now that if she could tell him then she would. He's quiet and confused, but swallows his questions, nods his thanks, and takes the can of cat food.

 He stops just inside the doorway. There's blood. Dark spatters that draw his attention immediately. Unmistakable.

 But before he has a chance to say anything he sees Cecil rise and something is wrong,  _everything_ , is  _wrong_ , and Carlos's breath catches in the back of his throat.

 "..C..Cecil?" he whispers, eyes widening.

 \--------------------

 

"I said  _get out_." He's trembling violently, breath hitching, catching, and the kitten is under the bed again. "If you think for one damn second I am just going to  _lay there_  and let you hurt me, you're wrong. You can 'punish' me all you want. You can try." He licks his lips, reels slightly but stays on his feet. He's pale, in pain, but his gaze is steely. "I don't want to see you again. Not  _ever again_." Vicious growl, and the tattoos jump slightly. "You send whoever the hell in here you want, but if you so much as lay a finger on me I will let this thing go and the first thing it will do is _rip you apart."_ He clenches the fist of his good hand, as if physically trying to stop himself. "Get out. Get out.  _Get out!_ "  It wants to be a defiant yell, a snap, but it breaks, and he chokes, and he has to sit down. Pain races through him, the thing under his skin pushing and prodding and swarming and God, he's so tired. 

 "Just tell them to take what they want and leave me alone." It's a moan, though he still watches Carlos with a look that warns him not to get any closer. "Just leave me the  _hell_  alone." 

 \---------------------

 

Of course Carlos doesn't come any closer. He  _can't._  Even if he wants to he can't, and he  _doesn't want to_ , because something is going on and he doesn't understand any of it and to be completely honest he is  _absolutely terrified._

Did he inject Cecil with too much of the formula last time? God forbid that any other Strex employees had slipped him something, or had hypnotized him into false memories or-

"I'm- I'm not-" His voice comes out soft, uneven, and he holds up his hands as though in surrender. "Could you at least tell me  _w-what is happening_ ?"

 \----------------------

 

His eyes widen, then narrow, and he growls like Koshekh when he's being possessive over food. (And does a decent job of it; it's a damn scary sound.) "I don't know," He hisses out, "what kind of game Strex is playing, or  _you_  are playing, but _I am not_  playing." But it's hard; it's hard to hold the anger, the hate, this is the worst part, the  _worst part_. Because Carlos looks...honestly...truthfully... _confused_. 

 For an instant- an  _instant_ \- his gaze softens, brow furrowing. He looks heart-breakingly like a kicked puppy- so confused and hurt, not sure which way to jump. Maybe Strex did something to Carlos, maybe he doesn't remember, doesn't even know- 

_Or maybe he's playing you again, like a fiddle, twisting you around his little finger because you are pathetic and stupid and naive_. 

 He whines, closes his eyes and shakes his head. He doesn't know. He doesn't  _know_ , and  _it_  is furious and  _right there_  and he hurts, he hurts- 

" _Leave me alone!_ " This time it  _is_  a yell, a shout, and  _something_  takes Carlos full in the chest,  _flings_  him like an ant. 

 \----------------------

 

Carlos doesn't actually see anything come at him, but next thing he know's he is  _in the air_ , and then suddenly a slam of pain as his back connects with the far wall and he crumples to the floor.

 "Calm-  _please_ , I need- need you to calm  _down_ , Cecil, I'm not playing anything and I- I can't-" Nothing is broken, as far as he can tell, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt like hell. He's shaking, he's afraid. For himself, obviously, but for Cecil as well. He doesn't know what's wrong, and therefore he can't make an effort to do the right thing or to make it all better.

 \----------------------

 

" _Don't tell me to **calm down**!" _ The bulb in the lamp shatters, like the lights in the other room before. Jesus Christ, the power is terrifying, and there's very little doubt Cecil- or the thing in him- could crush them all like insects if it got half a chance. He's curled on the bed, defensive and small, but his eyes are so...

_hateful_ . 

"Not playing.  _Not playing_ ." He's panting- he's hyperventilating.  _He could honestly not remember_ , whispers that voice again,  _he seems- like he means it. He's scared. He's confused. Stop. Listen. Look._

Outside the room, people are moving; they didn't expect him to lash out at Carlos, that much is obvious. "Y-you come in here and- and  _admit_  you lied and you- just get the hell out, just get  _out_."  His arm is starting to  _throb_ , and he curls around it with a tiny moan, eyes closing, brow furrowing. He feels dizzy with the hurt, feels sick. 

\----------------------

It's not just that he's frightened, but it's also that none of what Cecil is saying  _makes any sense_. 

Carlos struggles; he lost the crutch when he was flung across the room, and has to drag himself up the wall in order to get to his feet.  _You come in here and admit you lied_ . He  _never_ had lied, not about the most important things, nor had he told Cecil that.This is making less and less sense.

And then Cecil bends down to curl over his arm, moaning, clutching it to his chest, and Carlos can recognize that movement anywhere.

"W-who did that to you?" he asks, softly, unsteadily.

\-----------------------

" _Who_?" He lifts his head, eyes flashing, but nothing else shakes, nothing rattles. He can't sustain it. The crackle of power in the air is already backing off. His eyes open, and they're just- Cecil's eyes. Filled with pain and tears and anger but  not  _that thing's_ ; just Cecil' watching him, curled over on the bed and rocking slightly as he rides out waves of pain. " _Stop_  it. Stop it, stop it-" His voice breaks. He can't do this; this is the  _one thing_  they could do to him he can't handle. 

He doesn't know. He doesn't know and Carlos seems so  _honest_  and sincere but all he can remember is the sharp snap of his own bones, the way Carlos hissed  _stupid_  down at him, threatened him. And he doesn't know. And he can't do this, not  _this_ , not with Carlos. " _Why_  are you doing this?" It comes out broken, still furious but hurting now. "Why did you  _pretend_ , why are you still- pretending- why can't you just take what you want, why do you have to- do you-" He drops his head again, panting through his nose, pain painting his face. Real, physical pain; he's in agony, trying to cope with it.

 \----------------------

 

It is when Carlos can't bear to meet Cecil's eyes - those  _eyes_ \- for a second longer and he slumps a bit, dropping his gaze to the floor, that he notices and remembers. He has no clue what is going on, but there,  _there_ , is one thing that  _might possibly_ give him some sort of explanation or grounding or at  _least_ some clue.

 He gives a small gesture, nodding to the floor, to the carpet. "Are you bleeding..?" Although still not sounding brave or confident, having a simple question like that is a weird sort of reassurance to him, and it makes it easier for him to speak. "Is this blood yours?"

 \------------------------

 

"Buh?-" It would be an amusing noise, if the situation was less  _horrible_ \- confusion races over his face, and his eyes actually  _focus_ , for the first time. His brow furrows, and he blinks, twitches slightly, struggles for a minute before- "No. You know- you- why are you-"  _Why are you asking me?_  

Another blink, a shaky inhale. "You know it's not mine. S'yours. It's- broke your damn nose. It's yours. You know it's yours." But he sounds less confident now. He shifts, tries to straighten up and can't quite make it; winds up curled against the wall in a half-sit, panting raggedly, glaring at Carlos like he expects him to bite. But he's  _thinking,_ not just  _reacting_ , and it's a start. 

"...I broke-" His brow turns down again, and there's an odd little hiccup in his chest. "I- why-" 

\------------------------

 

_It's yours_ .  _You know it's yours_ .

And then it all snaps into razor-sharp clarity.

Carlos pales, and reaches back to find the wall to stop from losing his balance. He is trembling, and he can hear the blood rushing through his ears.

"Oh," he whispers, bringing up a hand to press against his temple because it is starting to throb. " _Oh_ ," he repeats. "They- oh, god, Cecil. I've got it. I've- they didn't tell  _either of us._ "

\-------------------------

"Tell us?..." He freezes, goes as still as a deer in headlights; this is no act. Carlos is  _not acting_. And his nose is  _not broken_. He licks his lips, shifts back and uses his good arm to push himself straight against the wall. "Tell us- w-what." And still not trusting. Eyeing Carlos like a threat, drawing himself as small as possible, but oh  _God_  he wants to believe this is truth, what he's seeing here. That this is  _Carlos_ , real and true, that the man from before was the lie,  _God_  he wants to believe that. 

He makes the hiccuping sound again, closes his eyes and lets his head drop back against the glass.  _No, he lied before, he lied before he lied before_  and God he's so  _tired_  so godsdamn  _tired_. 

\-------------------------

Carlos isn't looking at Cecil. He's fixated on the dark blood staining the carpet, and he is fixated on the person whose blood it must be. "It makes sense." He's muttering to himself, rapidly,  under his breath, horrified and baffled and alarmed. "It makes  _perfect_ sense, I should have thought of this a long while back, goddamn it, the evidence was  _right there_ , it should've been been obvious-"

 He cuts himself off abruptly, and suddenly he is looking directly into Cecil's eyes with an overwhelming mash-up of feelings and thoughts.

 "I.. _have a double_."

 \-------------------------

 

His mind grinds to a halt. 

 On one hand, it's the perfect cover-up for a lie. On the other- Carlos has never been good at lying. Never, ever, and this..this is so real, so genuine- so honest. And his  _nose isn't broken_. His nose isn't broken, and you can't  _fake_  that, you can't lie about that it would be swollen and tender and- you can't  _fake_  that- 

 "I can't- I c-can't-" He gulps for air, lets it out in a wheeze. He doesn't know what's real and what he can  _trust_  anymore. He can't trust his own senses, he can't trust  _Carlos_ , and he hurts he  _hurts so badly_. It's not just his arm, it's his head and arm and  _spirit_ , his chest is constricted and his stomach hurts and whatever the hell you call the thing that lives in his mind with him has him exhausted; it's railing and raging but he physically  _can't_ , and he's never been so aware of it. He can't think and he just wants to be  _left alone_. 

 \-------------------------

 

Without the crutch, Carlos is unsteady and aching, but he isn't about to let that stop him. 

 "Cecil?" He takes a step forward, and then another, and he  _isn't tense._ By all reasoning he should be - Cecil just flung him all the way across a room  _with his mind_ , for god's sake. Yet he knows that no matter how tensed or how braced he is, it won't make a difference. Cecil will do whatever he wants to do. But Carlos wants, no, _needs_ , to touch him. To hold him.

\------------------------

" _No!_ " But it's more a sob then a shout; and Cecil doesn't lash out. He curls  _in_ , instead, head to chest, trying to make himself so small, invisible, trying to escape. The motions jars his arm and he strangles on a yell; a force slams into Carlos but this is weak a shadow of the blow of before. a shove, only enough to make him stagger. It's _hard_ , to gather that energy, that will without the aid of the drug; easier then it was days ago but still something he'll need to practice for weeks or months or  _years_  before he can hope to work with it. Being in pain makes it even harder. 

"Don't- please-I c- I can't-" And he sounds so tiny, so wounded. "I just want to go  _home_ ." He whispers, abruptly, voice breaking. "I just want my Carlos and I want to go  _home_  and I want to know he loves me and I want- I just- want- _Carlos_ ." This time it's a plea. "Carlos,  _Carlos."_ And a slender, pale hand, trembling violently, reaching out. 

Unsure, but so desperate to trust. 

\--------------------------

He staggers back and just  _barely_ manages to catch himself. 

That plea - simple, not needing any explanation, just the name  _Carlos_ in such a fragile and desperate voice - is what he needs to hear. It's permission. It says that while his double might've fucked things up, Strex might've fucked things up ...there's  _some part_ of Cecil, at least, that doesn't hate him.

Carlos extends his arm forward and catches Cecil's thin long fingers in his own warmer and stronger ones. 

That simple touch brings out a small noise from the back of his throat. And it only takes a moment for him to pull himself forward and take Cecil into his arms with not passion or neediness, no, but a careful and tender and soft gentleness that is the only way he can think of to show what he wants to say.

\---------------------------

Cecil is weeping into his shoulder; he doesn't hold back, but he doesn't fight the hold, either, because it's  _Carlos_ \- warm and soft and gentle. It's  _his Carlos;_ the smell is right, the feel is right. There's only his name, in the back of Cecil's throat;  _Carlos, Carlos, Carlos_ , a low mantra, His good hand finally lifts, clutches the front of his coat, his face pressed into the side of his lover's neck. 

It feels right. he's so  _warm_ , so soft and comfortable his heartbeat is steady and strong. The smell of him. and the way he cradles Cecil like he is precious, the way he holds him like something dear. Like he is loved. Like he is  _so loved_ . 

He doesn't hate. He's  _terrified_ . He doesn't want to be hurt. He doesn't want to be  _wrong_ . 

Carlos's nose isn't broken. It isn't broken, and he's so. He's. So. 

"I don't know anymore." Broken, moaned. But he doesn't let go or back off. Presses closer in fact, desperately. "I don't- I can't-"  _help._

_\-------------------------_

 

Carlos brings him in a little closer, still gentle- he saw how Cecil had curled down around his arm before, and the last thing he'd want to do would be to cause the broadcaster _any_ amount of pain.

 "Shhh." He cranes his neck down and kisses Cecil's cheek, laces his fingers through the short ashy-blond hair. "Shh. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. I love you, okay?  I love you. And you don't have to talk. You don't deserve any of what must've happened."

 \----------------------------

 

The soft kiss earns another lurching sob, and Carlos is so gentle, so  _careful_.He butts up into the touch needily, whimpers faintly.  _I love you._

_I loved you._

He doesn't know, he doesn't know, but the tender affection, the soft care, is something he so desperately needs right now that he couldn't push away if he tried. He's lost his glasses somewhere, and he smells of blood and sweet and the chemical, medicinal scent of the lab, and he's half hysterical...but he curls  _closer_ , nods once. There is no  _I love you_  back. He can't bring himself to get those words out yet. Remembers the way he sobbed them, past-tense, and knows it had been a lie to pretend he ever stopped. 

 Slowly his good arm lifts, fingers brushing over Carlos's cheek; over his dark, thick hair, tangling slightly, catching on the thick curls, his broken one still held protectively to his own stomach and chest. His fingers whisper across the bridge of Carlos's nose, making sure it's straight and unbroken, down his neck, and then Cecil just sort of- 

 -goes limp. He sags against Carlos, curled up as close as he physically possibly can get, presses his face against the man's chest and listens to his heartbeat, steady and strong, to the sound of him breathing. 

 Double. Carlos has a double. Carlos's nose is not broken. 

 Carlos loves him. 

 They are in Desert Bluffs, everyone has a double,  _everyone has a double,_ Carlos is not lying. 

 He relaxes a little more. Whimpers as his arm protests the closeness and can't care. 

  _Mine. Real and mine._

  _\-----------------------------_

 

He can't even imagine what this must be like for Cecil. Not knowing who was real, having his heart figuratively ripped out, and then only to learn that he had been fooled. Even he, with all of the insane experiences that he has survived, has _never_ gone through something quite like this.

 Carlos can feel, in the tender touch of fingertips against his skin and the way that the other  man presses himself so close, that Cecil loves him.

 He doesn't need to hear the words. Cecil's emotions emanate from every pore in his body, and that's enough to let him know.

 Carlos barely moves; he doesn't feel the need to. Just holds his lover to him, gently stroking his hair, eyes closed, breathing soft and warm and rhythmic, accompanied by the sounds of yelling from the other side of the door.

 There's nothing he can _tell_ Cecil this time, honestly. Nothing. Cecil _knows_ that complying with Carlos's lead will make everything go along more easily. He _knows_ that what has just happened must inevitably delay their planned escape. So what is their left to say, really, that hasn't been dead already time and time again?

 \-----------------------------

 

Cecil takes the better part of two hours to calm completely; two hours in which Strex spends the first half pounding and shouting, and the second half watching in quiet disapproval to see what will happen. When he finally can breathe, and isn't a broken, sobbing wreck, he simply lays in Carlos's arms, limp and unresistant. His face is pressed in the man's neck, and finally,  _finally_ , whispered words.

"They'll be furious at you, won't they? For this." Broken and low. He leans into Carlos's ear, and he  _looks_ , to the cameras, like he's just clinging to him. The kitten crawls out, wanders, mewing, over to them. "We need to get  _out_  of here. They'll be furious at us  _both_. And Carlos I can't-"  _Do this anymore_. "Whatever you're planning, you'd better hurry the hell up." He loosens his grip to scoop the kitten in his good arm, gaze intense on Carlos. The thing under his skin is all raging fury and hate and he  _prays_  it will trust Carlos, too. 

\-----------------------------

 

  For those two hours Carlos just holds him. He doesn't let himself think too much about Strex or about the dark ancient powers or about the likelihood of this plan going downhill at an unbelievable and unstoppable rate.

When Cecil reaches for the kitten, Carlos gently releases Cecil, although not quite breaking their physical contact. No. Not yet.

He meets he broadcaster's gaze with a calm solid look and a small barely-noticeable inclination of the head.

Of course he'll try to hurry. But, really, he doesn't know how severely Strex will respond to today's incident.

\-----------------------------

 

 Cecil nods back, pulling the kitten to his chest and cuddling it gently. Carlos's calm, steady gaze settles the storm in Cecil's heart; it always has. His lips twitch in what tries to be a tiny smile but is too broken, too hurt to quite make it. 

 This is dangerous, and has just jumped into an entirely new level of danger. They are playing with fire, they are risking everything, and  _fuck it,_ Carlos decides, they've already seen Carlos holding him, they know their plan to break them apart failed, and he leans in and pauses, then kisses. Soft. shy. Timid. Not quite sure, still, that it's alright, that  _Carlos_  is  _Carlos_ , that he can be trusted. But he kisses, softly, and presses their foreheads together. 

 "We'll be ok." He whispers, too low to be heard. "We will  _be okay_. You and I." Fierce. 

 \-----------------------------

 

For half a second Carlos feels reflexive panic (wow, he hadn't realized how ingrained in him this paranoia has become), but then remembers how the past two hours have been spent and realizes that by this point very little that they could do at this point to further ruin the facade. So he doesn't pull back or flinch.

 Eyes downcast, he runs his hands up Cecil's forearms, gently, barely brushing the skin, not for the any actual reason but to feel the warmth of his body. It's the only type of reassurance he can give. He'll just have to hope that it is enough.

 \------------------------------

 

Cecil smiles. It's not his usual smile; it's grim and tight, and he flinches, slightly, at the touch to his injured arm.Hisses out a breath of pain, but doesn't pull back. He nods lightly at the unspoken message. He is hurt. He is exhausted, and confused, and hurt, and he knows he will have nightmares for a very long time of Carlos looming over him, Carlos snapping his arm. He knows intimacy will be difficult. He knows there will be fights and struggles and he knows they are both wounded and scarred. 

 But they'll be ok. 

 In the end, it's worse then they could have imagined. Carlos is fussed over as before, making sure he's okay, making sure he's not badly  injured, even as Cecil begins to  _shout_  from down the hall; it's not fear. It's rage and pain, mingling, and it comes clear why soon after. He's not allowed to see Cecil anymore; it's too dangerous. Makes him too unpredictable. 

 And whispers of keeping him sedated spring up. 

 


	17. Nearly, Nearly

They'll be okay. They can work through their difficulties, and sure, it'll probably be stressful and upsetting...and yet, in the end, they'll make it. They'll be okay. That is the one belief that Carlos refuses to let go of, no matter how illogical or statistically improbably it is.

Even as the scientist is told that they will have to take drastic measures to  keep Cecil well-behaved (by which, of course, they mean 'helpless and harmless'), he refuses to let himself drop the belief, despite the thick heavy sinking feeling that he can feel in the back of his mind.

No time for doom and gloom. No time for  _anything_  anymore.

There's only one way that he will be able to carry through with the plan any time soon, and that's if he does it  _as soon as possible_ . Sedation would ruin everything. 

He has to check, though, to be safe. The mention of sedation may only be a rumor after all. And so he has no choice but to ask them what the next step will be.

\-----------------------------

 

The answer is a resounding  _yes_. Cecil is violent and more unpredicatable and unstable then they expected. He is agitated and he is in pain; anyone and everyone who isn't Carlos who enters is instantly at war. He won't let them touch him, paces like a tiger in a zoo, won't calm the hell down.  He bites, he scratches, he claws; and by the time Carlos is done being treated he's already injured two people and sent a third running. 

It's hard not to feel a little proud of him for being so surprisingly ferocious. Cecil isn't happy, and the entire damn world will know it. 

But it ups the talk of possible sedative. The only change is that they have to find a way to pin and then  _restrain_  him, and that is honestly easier said then done. 

\------------------------------

 

Carlos watches Cecil through the security cameras. He doesn't want to - it feels so cold and arrogant and inhumane - but they firmly lead him to the display screens to watch anyway.

 They are struggling more and more with Cecil. He keeps injuring more employees, occasionally flings whatever object is closest to him across the room. The last employee who'd gone in had just barely managed to get the kitten out of the room for safety and had returned it to its owner.

 It is when Carlos is at an emergency meeting to discuss what is going on with 'the unfortunate situation' that he finally finds an opportunity to speak up.

 "I could help." he says, voice low, and then clears his throat. "I could help restrain and inject him. He'd trust me more, and he'd let me get closer."

 \-----------------------------

 

"Could you?" The voice is cold, impersonal, cool; the false-pleasent, false calm tones, smooth and professional. "Could you, Carlos? It's obvious from the last time that you still feel quite attached to each other, dispite our best efforts to ensure that did not happen." An arched, dissaproving eyebrow, hands folded under his chin. 

"If you think we can trust you to do what needs to be done-" He pauses, lips thin. "If you think he won't instantly attack you as well...then I suppose it's worth the risk." Another long pause. "He did seem willing to trust you before. Carlos, you must understand that we're not doing this simply to hurt you two. If we let you in there, you  _must_  keep your misguided emotions at bay. Go in, sedate him, restrain him, and get out." Firm and cold. " _Nothing more_. Am I clear?" 

 \-----------------------------

 

Carlos hesitates.

 He nods, then, and he forces himself to meet the other man's gaze, jaw clenching with what could be interpreted as shame (although, of course, it is something much, much different). His hands clench and unclench; the tension in the air is making the hairs on the back of the scientist's neck prickle.

 "Crystal." A small nod, and Carlos breaks the eye contact.

 \------------------------------

 

He can't know what Carlos is  _really_  feeling; can't know what he's planning. But for all the world, it's like Cecil does, somehow. Cecil, who plays into his role perfectly without even knowing it by not letting a godsdamn soul near him. The man who spoke to Carlos tells him he has twenty four hours to get Cecil sedated; that if his  _one_  attempt doesn't work, they're going to take far more drastic measures. 

 "We're watching you." He reminds, coldly. "Don't do anything stupid, Carlos." 

 Carlos is about to do the  _most_  stupid thing. 

 But they don't know. Not really. 

 They don't understand what's about to happen. 

To be fair, neither do either of the men about to  _do it_. 

 Cecil is pacing in his room; prowling, like a tiger. His bad arm is still limp and useless by his side, but he seems to be ignoring the pain. Uneaten food sits by the door; he won't touch it. Hasn't eaten since the day his arm was broken. 

He has become a very pissed off, and very  _dangerous_  wild thing trapped in a cage. And it's about to get far worse. 

 \-----------------------------

 

While preparing what he needs, Carlos damn near has a panic attack. His hands shake and he almost drops the flask of the formula, the stuff that opens Cecil's mind and awakens the beast inside, his chance, his  _only chance_ , and it takes him several minutes to calm down enough to fill the syringe and return the flask to a cupboard, placing it beside the one of the sedation liquid. Both liquids are clear. No one will tell.

 The walk down the halls to Cecil's chamber feels hundreds of miles longer than it is, and at least he doesn't need a crutch now that they're done fixing him up, although he is still limping a bit. Carlos wishes that he could find Sam right now, could tell her what he was about to do so that she could get out of the way, but she is nowhere in site and he doesn't have any time to spare.

 He does get to the chamber eventually, though. He stops and stands there for a minute. Forehead rests against the smooth cold metal of the door, and he makes himself breathe.

_Your panic would become his panic. Don't_ do  _that to him_ .

 Pulling himself together, finally, he lets the security camera scan him and the door slides open.

 \------------------------------

 

Cecil  _whirls_  on him as he enters- snarling, bristling, like a cornered animal; he relaxes only when he sees who it is, and _only_  when his eyes flick to Carlos's face, confirm that nose is straight, unbroken. He freezes instead, trembling, looking for all the world like something wild and spooked. His eyes flick to the syringe, and his lips thin. He knows what Carlos has been doing; he understands, if perhaps not fully, what is about to happen. 

 He licks his lips, takes a faltering half-step forward. He's  _scared_. It shows on his face, in his eyes. But he's determined, too.  

 Step. Step. 

 Step. 

 They are close now, close enough to feel breath, to reach out and touch. Cecil's good hand brushes over Cecil's dark skin, just once, just subtle, light. His hand trembles. And because this is the zero hour and there is no point in lying, in hiding, he twines their fingers together and  _don't you dare yank away from me don't you **dare**. _

  _\-----------------------------_

 

Carlos is a few steps inside - the door has automatically closed behind him, and he hopes and prays that _it_ will be able to fight its way out without too much trouble. He doesn't move from where he stands as Cecil looks him over, as Cecil steps closer, scared, Carlos can tell, and he wants with every bone in his body to tell him not to be.

 He has every right to be scared, though. Carlos himself is terrified.

 He doesn't pull away- he doesn't want to. He gives a gentle squeeze, and pushes up the sleeve with the hand holding the syringe. And pauses.

 "You know that I love you, right?" he says softly. 

 He's not insisting. He's not even demanding that Cecil return the sentiment. All that he needs is to make sure that Cecil _knows_.

 \------------------------------

 

Cecil lifts his head- his eyes- in surprise, lips parting slightly. His eyes search Carlos's face for a long moment. Then he lets out a shaky breath, lips tipping up softly. The smile quivers, but it's there. He leans in, kisses Carlos light and soft on the forehead. "I know." He breathes, pulling back, his grip tight in Carlos's own. He stays like that for a moment, breathing steadily, in and out in tandem, a long pause. "I know." Swallow. 

 He moves away at last, a light kiss offered to the lips, and then he closes his eyes. The doses so far haven't been for naught; even as he stands, that same unnatural  _still_  slowly coveres his frame. The tattoos on his flesh  _twitch_. Want to move. The hair on both their arms slowly begins to stand up, light in the corner flickering once, twice, three times. It's feeble, weak, but it's there. 

Now or never. 

\-----------------------------

 

He _knows_. A little reassurance, but it is an important one to the scientist. Carlos returns the smile. His is a little unsteady as well. He wishes it weren't, but he can't help it.

 The anticipation in the room is nearly tangible, and from the corner of his eye Carlos can see the light beginning to flicker.

 This is it. There is no backing out of this. Not ever.

 He takes a deep breath and holds the air in his lungs, their fates in his hand, and Cecil's hand in his. 

 In. Press. Out. Within a second, not a moment spared.

 \------------------------------

 

Cecil flinches slightly; lets out his breath. Slow. Shaking. Threads their fingers together. Runs his thumb over the back of Carlos's, a soft, tiny sign of affection. 

 The dose is much larger. 

 Cecil has been exposed before, is open, is waiting. 

It happens between heartbeats. 

Cecil  _drops_ , like a rock, and one by one, every camera blows with a sharp, resounding  _pop_. He hits his knees, good hand groping for Carlos in a motion that is not unlike a swimmer clawing for shore; drowning. He lets out a tiny cry of protest, rocking slightly. He  _trembles_ ; almost instantly he starts to give off heart like a damn oven. Pants for air harshly, and _clings_  to Carlos, whimpering somewhere low in his throat, the sound pure pain. 

 The light goes, as before. The energy in the room ramps up, makes it hard to so much as breathe, and in mere minutes that third eye is open, Cecil's eyes are open, all dark-black-purple, wild and sharply alert. He picks himself up with a slow, limber grace, cocks his head at Carlos and then, quietly...

 ...simply extends a hand, even as the door starts to force it's way open without a single hand on it, spitting sparks and _screaming_  as it goes. 

 \------------------------------

 

The room is submerged in darkness.

 Gasping for air and barely able to see anything, Carlos feels for Cecil, who is wrapped around his waist, and something feels weird, it feels  _unnatural_ ,  and it takes him a minute to realize that the temperature of the man clinging to him is far above human. Far above  _anything_ living.

 And then Cecil lets go. The door begins to shudder and screech in protest as the unseen force pushes it open. A sliver of sharp white light shoots across the room, and Carlos can  _see_ , those three wide eyes, the solemn face, a stillness about his form that the radio host never has.

 He sees the pale, slender hand, held out.

 Carlos drops the empty syringe and takes the hand in his, and it nearly  _burns,_ it feels like he has just grabbed ahold of a live wire, he shudders but doesn't look away and doesn't let go. He isn't even sure that he  _could_ let go.

 \-------------------------------

 

_It_ \- because there is nothing human in him right now- pulls him by the hand as they make their way out of the door. 

 People try to stop them. People use force, security measures kick off, sirens  _scream_. And It simply walks, calm and quiet, through it all. Anyone foolish enough to get close enough is tossed like a rag doll. Weapons jam and explode. Doors break. Cameras give out, the glass of windows and doors shatters as they go past. 

 Soon, trying to stop him turns into trying to get  _away from_  him. He kept his hand, firmly, in Carlos's; lead the way keeping him  _glued_  to his back. Being this close to him was like being close to a live electrical wire; but it was probably the safest place to be in the entire place. 

When the building started to  _tremble,_ people gave up fighting and simply  _ran_. Stations began to falls, desks crumbling, cracks running up the walls. It's fury was righteous and total, and  _terrifying_. Cecil's expression was unchanging.

 It was pissed as  _hell_ , and it was taking it's revenge on the entire building. 

 \--------------------------------

 

Carlos is holding more tightly onto that hand than he has held onto  _anything_ in a very, very long time. 

 He's horrified but he is also in  _awe_. He does not scientifically know precisely how strong this  this kind of power can be,  but it is no question whatsoever that this power is  _under no circumstances_ to be fucked with.

 It's a reassuring thought, though, that (at least for now) it's on the same side as him.

 He'd rather it stay that way.

 He stumbles and  _shit_ , hisses under his breath, dragging himself up and forward as it continues to storm unfalteringly further and furthur through the building.

 \---------------------------------

 

It stops, half turns to face him; even as it stares uncomprehendingly, and then, surprisingly, it strokes his cheek. Electricity tingles over flesh, and he is hot, he is  _so hot_  it's like standing next to an inferno. Those tattoos slide forward and seem to brush over Carlos's skin for a moment, timid contact, before 

  _Be strong. Nearly,nearly._

 And Christ, but if that voice in his head isn't  _gentle_. And then it turns, starts forward again; a little more slowly, a little more thoughtfully. Cecil's legs are long, but his gait- normally ambling and casual- is now purposeful and take full advantage of his height. It forces itself to shorten them, to slow down for him. 

 Cecil is there.  _Somewhere_. 

 With everything and everyone else, he is unforgiving. People are hurled like rag-dolls. Somewhere, something spills; a fire alarm starts yelping protest not long after, and there is the smell of chemical smoke. Every single light explodes; the sparks set off smaller fires. 

 They don't touch Carlos and Cecil. The spirit- the  _thing_ \- leads them through calm and collected, as if not hearing the shouts and screams. No one is even attempting to restain that. No one is stupid enough. 

 And then, abruptly,  _Sam_. She's there, having fallen, staring up at Cecil with wide, frightened eyes as she scrambles to her feet. "Oh, God." She breathes, backing away. "Oh, God, Carlos-" 

 She doesn't run. She doesn't scream. 

 And  _it_  just stares at her, almost perplexed. 

 \---------------------------------

 

He doesn't know what he's feeling anymore - he knows it cares, he's comforted, he's terrified, he's hurt but he's safe. Cecil's with him, he  _knows_ that much, although it's on more of a spiritual level than a factual one that he knows it. He's..numb, in a sense, and the only thing driving him right now is Its confidence and strength urging him forward.

 Then Sam is there.

And, all at once, Carlos  _isn't_ numb. He's not entirely sure why. Not at first. She's not Strex, though. And he remembers when Dana had told him, y _ou're not one of them_ , and he knows that he's not the  _only_ person who that applies to.

He remembers the small smiles. The kitten, held out, that small offering of care.

Carlos squeezes Cecil's - Its - hand. He can't tear his eyes away from her.

"We can't leave her," he chokes out, and it's half-pleading, half demand.

 \-----------------------------------

 

It half-turns to face him, lip curling up in a snarling sneer. "She's one of them." It says, using Cecil's mouth, but not with his voice. "They hurt us. Hurt you. Hurt him." But it doesn't move to close in on her. It stands, trembling slightly, obviously conflicted. Because it remembers, too; because  _Cecil_  remembers. 

 Sam's eyes flick from  _it_  to Carlos and back to it- softly- "Carlos, what did you  _do_?"  Her voice shaking, her eyes wide. "Is that- Jesus Christ, that's what they were trying to-" She puts her hands over her mouth, takes a shuddering breath. "Oh my _God_ , is he okay?" 

 And that does it. Between Carlos's concern, Cecil's concern, and  _that selfless question_ , it snort-huffs like an irritated bull. 

 " _Because you care for her only_. Do not let her fall behind, Carlos, we will not go back. Take his hand, woman." It snaps, "And do not let go." 

 Sam nods, once, scoots past him to latch onto Carlos with trembling fingers. "Is he still there?" She whispers, as they start to move again. "Is he  _in there_?" 

 \------------------------------------

 

For a moment, there, Carlos feels a surge of something unexpected deep inside of him. It's partially what could be considered an almost _paternal_ urge, but it's more than that. 

 He can see himself in Sam. And losing her here would break his heart.

 The second that the permission is given, he locks his hand around hers, holding tight, and can feel how she trembles.

 A little nod of confirmation. "It's- I- this is a story for another time." His smile is humorless. "You...you'll be okay."

 \-----------------------------------

 

And she- something about Carlos, about Cecil, she has fallen in love with. In the way of a little sister, of someone who saw a kindred spirit. She clings to Carlos and feels a little better just with his hand in hers, knowing he's on her side. "We'll be." She corrects, and squeezes his hand firmly. "But I expect to hear that story." She smiles, shaky, and she's trying so hard- not unlike Carlos- to  _not be afraid_  when she is terrified. 

 It leads them further onward.Closer, by the minute, to the exit. To freedom. Cecil has begin to stagger. Just slightly, barely noticeable; but the confident, strong footsteps falter now. The wheeze has come back, panting for air through his mouth,  and his grip is slick with sweat. The rocking, shaking of the building stops after a few more minutes, and it becomes obvious that all of It's attention is on simply  _getting out_. 

 It tightens it's grip on Carlos, but for all the world, it doesn't feel light Night Vale.  The motion is all Cecil; needing him. And then one, terrifying word. 

" _Run."_  

And Cecil breaks into a sprint. 

\----------------------------------

 

Carlos gives her as reassuring an expression as he can manage, squeezing her hand and echoing the thought, confirming it. " _We will_  be okay." We  _have_ to be okay.

 He notices the hint of weakness showing through all of the mighty rage that It resonates. And it worries him. And Cecil - _Cecil_ , oh god - is the one who tightens the grip, he can  _feel that_ , it both scares him and reassures him of his lover's presence.

 And they  _do_ run.

 Hand in hand, all three of them, white-knuckled clinging to each other's fingers despite the slipperiness of sweat and speed at which they are moving. Keeping up with Cecil's long-legged steps isn't easy. Carlos feels like his heart is going to leap out his throat any minute. But he doesn't let himself lag behind; this is the race of his lifetime, and there's  _no way_ he can afford to take it easy.

 \----------------------------------

 

He staggers again as they run, gasps a breath, and as they skid around the corner he's gasping like a landed fish.  The next hall and he's fully stumbling. The next, and he goes down hard,  pulling them down with him,  to a knee.  Sam cries out softly, doesn't even hesitate before she's at one elbow,  helping him up.

He reels. Looks at Carlos with Cecil's eyes and he can't.  But he has to.

They go purple and distant again, but the run has turned into a stumbling shuffle. Cecil is terrifyingly hot, damn near convulsing.

\-------------------------------------

 

Carlos nearly falls over him as he goes down but just barely manages to catch himself. That look,  _those eyes_ , and the scientist realizes the extent to which this is wearing down on him. 

As Sam helps him up Carlos joins in and all he can say is "Cecil," softly, barely a whisper. No reassurance. No rooting him on. But there's still determination in his own gaze, and he hopes that the willpower to keep going will be enough.

They're not even holding hands anymore, not really; Sam's holding onto one of Carlos's forearms, and his  _other_ arm is linked with Cecil's, partially to hold on and partially to give him support..

 

And they run face first into Kevin Free, armed and unflinching, at the end of the next hall.

 

 


	18. In Very Real Trouble

Cecil stands,  leaning heavily on Sam and Carlos. He's not able to hold his own weight,  but even still he tries to shove Carlos behind him protectively.  Kevin's aim isn't on Cecil - it's on Carlos, over his shoulder.  Cecil is frozen, not daring to move.

The gun cocks, and Kevin bears his teeth. "Cecil, Cecil. Silly little broadcaster. " His normally amiable voice is a snarl. " Someone isn't looking very healthy!" That is somehow more disturbing, sing-song and playful. "Get on the floor. All three of you. If you're very good, no one will get a bullet through the kneecap and we might even find someone to make sure my poor double is all healthy and good as new.  _Better_  then new." 

Cecil-no,  _It_ \- growls somewhere low in it's throat, and seems to decide  _fuck this_ \- there is a sharp motion of a hand and, by all rights, Kevin should have been hurled aside like a flea. 

He isn't. He's  _shoved_ , violently, and the gun barks without fail. The shove threw off his aim, though, and the bullet would, at the worse, land home in Carlos's upper arm. Cecil makes an  _enraged_  noise, lashes out again- this time, Kevin  _does_  fly. He hits the wall with a solid  _thud-_

 _-_ and Cecil sinks with a low moan. 

\----------------------

When the broadcaster tries to push him back protectively he doesn't move. He's not strong, especially not compared to someone with a gun, but he's not going to back down and hide, not when Cecil's this weak. Carlos would rather be the target - he could take whatever was coming. Cecil, on the other hand, would not be able to.

The gun fires. 

It takes ten seconds for the ringing in Carlos's ears to quiet, and another five, as he turns and kneels to see if he can assist, to notice the dark red blooming across the sleeve of his own labcoat.

Sam's already down, holding Cecil's head between her hands and trying to get him to look up at her, all calm and collected and her voice only slightly unsteady. And thank god she's there, too, to snap "apply pressure" and snap Carlos out of his daze.

Carlos would have to tend to himself for the time being. " _Cecil_ ," she  says softly, gently, in a small, small voice, turning up his head, "can you get up? I need you, we- we  _need you_ , we're so close."

\----------------------

Cecil- and it  _is_  Cecil, all Cecil, nothing else there- struggles to focus on her; a hand lifts to his head and he claws-  _claws_ \- at her arm, her hands, and the moan is steadily turning into a sobbing kind of keen. He's in agony, the sound breaks only because he has to gasp a breath, and he chokes on it. He closes his eyes,  and he tries to slide down, tries to  _lay_  down. Only Sam's hands on him keep him from simply curling up in a ball in the hallway, and he's still so hot; still burning like fire. 

Then she speaks, and he goes still. Takes a deep breath- or as deep as he can manage.

"Help me." He croaks, reaching up to grab her shoulder with a shaking hand, presses down, tries to lever himself up. "C'n finish. Help me." 

And where he hit the wall, Kevin is already slowly stirring. Like a pissed off rattlesnake, he  _uncoils_ by inches, bleeding from the head and hunched slightly over his ribcage; bears too-sharp sharkteeth and then he  _lunges._

At the closest person to him. 

Sam. 

\---------------------

 

He's so broken and trembling and burning beyond any human temperature between her hands; she can even feel his pulse, veins throbbing at a too-quick rhythm under the thin layers of skin.

"'Course," she murmurs in relief, and begins to pull him up.

 " _Sam_ -"

 That's Carlos's voice, unusually high and urgent, and she looks up to see why it is that he's calling out to her.

 She lets go of Cecil and in an instant is on her feet. Kevin has the advantage of nearly having caught her off guard.  A dodge- and he almost misses her, one hand glances off her shoulder. "Kevin," she hisses spinning to face him,

"leave us _alone_ , we do _not want to bother you_."

 \------------------------

 

Kevin grins at her, and all it is is another bearing of his teeth. "No, you don't." He replies, and his voice is still that dangerous growl. "Which is why you'll  _get on your knees_  and stop arguing with me." He doesn't have the gun anymore- not for now- but that doesn't make him any less dangerous. Cecil is still on his knees; he  _can't_ get up, but he's growling, furiously, like a cornered animal. "You know what's going to happen, right, Sam? You're in very real trouble. But if you behave yourself, from this moment on, we can see what we can do about doing easy on you." 

 Cecil growls again,but Kevin ignores him; just as he ignores it when the ground under his feet bucks. Once. Twice. 

 Cecil's hands are flat to the earth,and he is focusing hard while Kevin banters with the other two. Either Kevin hasn't noticed, or doesn't think of Cecil as a threat. 

 His loss. 

 \-------------------------

 

Sam doesn't flinch when the ground moves, just moves so she's more well balanced, feet shoulder-width apart and knees slightly bent. Her gaze doesn't leave Kevin. Not or an instant. Not even when she hears Cecil's _growling_.

 "I'm done," she says, and despite her strong posture and fists and determined expression, her voice has a small tremor, "following. I didn't come here for _any_ of... _this_. This isn't science. This is _torture_. I..I can't, this is inhumane. I'm sorry, Kevin. I can't do this anymore."

 Carlos is holding Cecil's shoulder - holy shit, he can feel the heat easily through the cloth - and he gives him a small squeeze.   _You can do this._

 \--------------------------

 

Kevin is rocked by it- which was, of course, the intention, to throw him off balance. He slinks into a crouch, low and surprisingly predatory, head canting as his jaw clenches, a twitch going off in the muscle, He  _smiles_ , and God, the expression is terrifying; it's a bearing of his teeth, pure and simple, not anything like a smile is supposed to be. But there  _is_  humor in his eyes. 

 He's looking at her like a cat looks at a mouse. 

 Because they  _both_  know what Kevin is capable of. Sam is trained, but Kevin is like a horror movie villain. He doesn't stop. He doesn't stay down. And he will keep coming for your throat with his teeth if he must. And those teeth are far sharper then they are technically  _supposed_  to be. 

 " _Sam_." He purrs, "Please. This really isn't necessary." It's terrifying, to hear that pleasant, lilting voice come out of someone who looks like he wants to, quite literally,  _bite_. "You're confused and listening to very, very manipulative people! Everything would be just  _fine_  if Cecil and Carlos would just follow procedure and stop kicking up  _such_  a fuss. Look at what they've caused!" And now he moves. Advances on her like a predator stalking, slow, lazy steps. 

 Then - "Actually, you know what? I think it's easy just to do this." 

 And here he comes. Fast. Kevin is disturbingly fast, comes in low and hard with his hand going for her throat and his legs sweeping out to try to unbalance her. 

He never gets there. The ground between them  _splits_  open, Cecil cries out, and Kevin  _snarls._ He can't stop his momentum, so he  _jumps_  instead, still coming for Sam though as much to simply avoid the sudden chasm in the ground as to get to her. 

 Cecil, for his part, is  _heaving_  in his attempts to get air. His mouth hangs open and he shakes like he's in the midst of a minor seizure. Blood drips from his nose, from his  _mouth_ , throat working as he attempts to swallow, eyes wide and staring at nothing. 

 He reaches up, as if to catch Carlos's arm, as if to try and get up, and his arms give out. Cecil will not be walking out of here. 

Cecil will not be  _conscious_  for much longer. 

 \--------------------------

 

Kevin's appearance is alarming in the way that a hyper-realistic doll might be; he looks human but something is so... _not right_ about him. Something is _uncanny_ and _unnatural_ and it sends shudders down Sam's spine. 

 And it's not like she just met him. She's known him - and been disturbed by him -ever since she first came to Strex. That length of time, though, does nothing to hold back how smooth and silky and calming his voice is to her ears.

 Sam shakes her head. Once, quickly. And then-

 Movement. And the floor falls away. 

 Her reflexes are great, but not _that_ great. She staggers back away from the chasm and in that same moment, something grabs onto her legs and "Get- _off_ ," she hisses and tries to kick, arms swinging out to help maintain balance. 

 Cecil's gone from weak shakiness to something that Carlos, despite not being a medical professional, knows _for sure_ is extremely not good. 

 "Ah, hhh-" He grabs ahold of one of Cecil's arms, cupping his face with the other hand. "I- Cecil, oh, g- shhh, shh, you c-can make it, I, oh.." Whatever confidence his voice previously had was now long gone, leaving a quiet and stumbling and obviously very scared whisper in its wake. He was shaking too, and wide-eyed, and in his peripheral vision Sam was fighting hard but right now there was nothing Carlos could do to help.

 \-----------------------------

 

He leans into the hand, eyes- normal, the soft mismatched blue and green, familiar,  _normal_ ,  trying to focus, unable to, giving up and closing. He slumps into Carlos's arms, against his chest. There is only a faint trace of  _It_  left;  the heat is there, the energy. But it's  _faint_ \- he's losing the ability to hold it.  He's  limp as a rag doll against Carlos and still twitching, shaking. His hand manages to lock onto his lover's shirt, and his head lolls, his breath turning into a sharp hitch jerk that jars his entire body. He nods- tries to nod- and his hand lifts weakly to stroke through Carlos's hair. "Okay, s'okay." He manages after a minute, voice barely audible, throat locking around a whimper. But he's fading quickly. Thank God, at least, most of the place is pure chaos; all that's left to do is walk out. 

Which may be easier said then done, especially with the way there is a Kevin between them and their goal. Her kick takes him in the jaw and he grunts, scrambles away from the edge and he's in her face, inches away, grinning, grinning,  _grinning_. He follows through with his first plan, going for her throat with a hand, snarling under his breath. He landed hard and wrong with the unexpected jump; he's favoring one leg slightly. 

"Sit  _down_ , Samantha." He snaps, still in that coolly friendly voice that is  _so wrong_ with his actions, with his body language. "And  _maybe_  you'll get a second chance, despite all this mess." 

\-----------------------------

 

The fact that Cecil is trying to reassure _him_ just wrenches his heart. Carlos makes a low sound, deep within his throat, and it isn't unlike a moan. His arm is throbbing. He pulls Cecil against him more firmly; he doesn't want there to be any amount of space between them. Shifts a bit so Cecil's head can fall against his shoulder, and buries his face in the sweaty pale-blond mess of hair.

 Sam writhes under Kevin's hands. She can't look at his eyes, she _can't_ , and so she fixes her eyes on the thin red line that curves down over his cheekbone and cheek, a bit puffy, clearly not very old an injury. "I d-do-" Her brain is working fast, assessing his position, her position, and she coughs and sputters for air, "-don't want a- a second-"

 \----------------------------

 

Cecil  _does_  whimper this time; presses his face into the shoulder under him and wraps his hand around the back of his neck. He makes soothing sounds in the base of his chest, his fingers catching and hooking in the soft curls, trying to steady his own breathing. "'M here. Righ' here." He whispers, and his voice trembles, locks in his throat, and he coughs hard. Whines- it  _hurts_ \- and tries to curl into a ball, up against his lover's chest. God, he just wants to  _sleep_. He knows he can't, but he  _wants_  to, and it takes every bit of willpower not to simply do so right there against him. He has to keep going- he has to keep  _helping_. He knows it; but he can't bring himself to pull away. "Carlos." He has to  _concentrate_ to speak; it's unnerving. But this  _needs_  to be said. It needs to be said because his heart is racing too fast and he can't breathe and he feels like he's on fire and freezing all at once and everything hurts. Because he can't see; everything is a blur of color and motion. He's scared, and he's not sure he'll get the chance to later, and Carlos- 

"I love you." He makes it come out clear,  _forces_  it to come out clearly. " _Love you_." 

Kevin senses her unease with the same pin-point accuracy of a predator; his other hand comes up to grip her chin,  _squeeze_  hard. "Isn't it lovely?" He chirps, though his eyes are cold. "Don't be jealous, dear, it's unbecoming." He tightens his grip around her throat, leans in slow. "Now, now, that's no attitude to have. Very negative, Samantha. Of course you want a second chance. Everyone does. I would know. I've seen them  _beg_  for it." 

 \--------------------------------

 

Carlos makes a strangled sound, and for all the world he looks like he wants to cry. He knows the determined way in which Cecil speaks. He knows why he's doing that...and really, really doesn't want to think about that. Not now. Not _ever_.

 He closes his eyes for a long moment, and then opens them again, and gives a nod and a heartbroken sort of smile. "I _know_ you do. I - I love you too. I know," he repeats.

 Neither of her arms are pinned. 

 Sam waits for a moment or two longer, gasp-coughing and fighting for air, before bringing one fist up and around to connect with Kevin's face. The intent isn't even all that bad; all she needs is to throw him off balance.

 \---------------------------------

 

"I know.." Cecil leans up, kisses his forehead and leave behind a smear of blood. He latches onto Carlos's hand with his good one, holds desperately tight. He has to do this. He has to. He knows it. He groans, sighs softly. No more talking; then Sam's fist connects with Kevin's face and everything happens at once. 

 Firstly, Cecil's third eye snaps open again. Then Kevin snarls pain, staggering back, off balance and surprised more then hurt. 

 And then Cecil makes a nearly desperate, nearly  _frantic_  tossing motion. 

 Kevin's stagger turns into loosing his footing totally and he is hurled for a second time. This time, though, the edge of his head connects, sharply, with an upturned desk. The blood is instant, as is the way he goes limp. 

 His body hits the ground and rolls, and there is no reaction. Not when the power in the air fades. Not when his sleeve shows dangerous threat of catching fire where he's laying. 

 Cecil's tattoos are tattoos again. He lets out a sound like an exhausted child, a low whining whimper, and he, too, goes totally limp. His eyes roll into the back of his head, and his breathing is steady now, at least, but far, far too shallow. 

 \------------------------------

 

Before Carlos knows it, everything is happening, and so he just holds tight onto Cecil and braces himself. 

 The blood trickling down Kevin's head is dark against the light hair and pale skin so, so similar to Cecil's. 

 "Sam, you okay?" he calls in a rough voice. His eyes are on the man - just a man and nothing more - in his arms, though, also limp, also with blood staining pale skin. "We're almost there," he breathes, more reassuring himself than he is reassuring Cecil. He gathers him up in his arms, teeth gritting against the throbbing pain.

 \--------------------------------

 

She is coughing, gagging, and looks more then slightly dazed; it takes her a moment to be able to focus on him properly, gasping one breath, two. "I'll live." She calls back, her grin weak, shaky, not quite touching her eyes. "What about you and Carrie over there?" She is eyeing the cracking, breaking floor; takes her chances and starts hoping back over to them, favoring one leg tenderly but moving quickly enough, adreinaline keeping her up and running. Her eyes flick to Kevin- so limp and still- and it seems to take physical effort for her to look away. Her delicate hand slips under one elbow, offering support, offering to help him to his feet. "Come on. I don't know how long he'll stay down." She squeezes his arm-  _we can do this_ .  _We can make it_ . 

Cecil, for his part, is not totally unconcious; he stirrs ever so slightly when Carlos lifts him, lets out a broken moan. His eyes don't open, though, and he doesn't move or react otherwise but to press his face into Carlos's shoulder. He's  _done_ ; nothing left to give them, even if he wanted to. It seemed  _It_ knows better then to push any further. 

 \---------------------------------

 

The fact that Cecil has responded in any way whatsoever is reassuring; Carlos has no idea what all kinds of lasting damage has been done due to the the broadcaster's complete physical and mental exertion, so  _any_ sign of life is a blessing right now. 

 Carlos gladly welcomes what help Sam offers. Even just her companionship and determination is enough for him. 

 He nods. "Better get moving." Shifts to have a better grip, arms wrapped under Cecil's lanky frame. He can feel how bony he is, the man's hip pressing into the other's stomach, and that just makes him worry more.

 But now there is no  _time_ for worrying, he reminds himself, and begins to move.

 \----------------------------------

 

Sam keeps a hold of him as they move. Her hand is a firm guiding point; every so often, she murmurs  _we'll get there, we'll get there_  in a way that seems less desperate and more firmly reassuring. Cecil has caused enough chaos for them to more or less get through unmolested;  twice Sam had to wrestle someone away from them, and it is at one point when there is a desperate mewing that she makes them stop until she can dig her kitten out of the desk it was taking shelter in, terrified. ( _I'm not leaving him!_ ) It takes her a good five minutes to coax it out, but once it's in her pocket, it is perfectly content to stay there. 

 And then moving again. Occasionally Cecil moans or mews softly in pain; he mutters but it's not clear, not coherent, clutches at Carlos with a grip that weakens with every passing minute. (He whispers a plea for his mother, for Carlos, he's not remotely with them anymore by the time they finally,  _finally_  burst through the doors of the building, out into the main lot. 

 "I can hot-wire a car." Sam offers, guiding him towards the lot. "But our best bet is to try and let the air or gas out of some of the other vehicles.  It's a start." 

 \--------------------------------------

 

Just as Sam murmurs reassurances to Carlos, Carlos whispers gentle words to Cecil. Nothing deep, nothing important. Just soft, sweet words and phrases, because if even a little bit of Cecil's mind can process those words then maybe they would help soothe him. A desperate hope? Yes, probably. But it was worth the shot.

 Finally they are out of the building. The light is near blinding, and somewhere in the back of his mind Carlos realizes _just how long_ it has been since the last time he had been outside of the StrexCorp building.

 "I understand. Not sure I could be a whole lot of help, though, unless I set him down, but..he.."

 \-------------------------------------

 

"No." The answer is instant. "No, you hold him. Hold onto him. Just- stay close to me and keep an eye out for anyone or anything." She was already moving, quick on her feet, light, letting the gas out of some cars and the air out of tires. She's fast and efficient, but even still halfway through and Cecil has started to shake again, to let out tiny pain noises more frequently and louder and his hand clutch and cling and his back arches, slightly, head tossing  restlessly. Sam  whispers to him to keep him  _quiet_ , but her eyes are worried, her lips set in a thin line as she glances at the man struggling in Carlos's arms. At them both. 

 Declares it good enough and motions them to a car. "Tell me where to go." She instructs, "and I'll drive. You just- he needs you, right?" She bites her lower lip. "He needs you." 

Indeed, for all his fighting and semi-delusion, Cecil is still  _clinging_ ; still pressing as close as he can to Carlos. Know him as safety, as love and warmth and shelter, even on a subconscious level. 

 \------------------------------------

 

Carlos wants to hold him gently. He can't even to begin what kind of pain he is in. And yet when Cecil's muscles spasm and it feels as though he is fighting for freedom, Carlos has no choice but to grab him more firmly. Attempt to restrain him.

 It feels wrong for many reasons. 

 Once they're in the car, it becomes more clear that despite the struggling Cecil knows that Carlos is there for him. The two of them are in the back seat, the broadcaster half-curled partially in his scientist's lap. Carlos murmurs directions to Sam, murmurs reassurances to Cecil, and strokes the sweat-slicked mop of light hair. 

 The town is...not in great conditions, that much is clear. Some of the buildings look like they have been either burned to a crisp or submerged in something, or a combination of the two. It scares him to think of how many of the town's citizens were the targets of StrexCorp since he'd been taken in. And it also scares him to think what  _happened_ to those people.

 \---------------------------------------

 

Cecil babbles for the first half of the ride; nonsense, some of it understandable, a lot of it not; he cries, twists, fights Carlos, sometimes, doesn't want to be touched, is in too much pain to be touched. Sometimes, he seems perfectly aware- others, he doesn't even know who Carlos is.  Sometimes he settles, clings with his good hand, whimpers  _Carlos_  under his breath and pleads with him to make it stop. He calms a little when Carlos talks to him- sometimes he opens his eyes, focuses on Carlos's face like it's the only thing in the world. 

Sometimes, that hand lets go of his shirt and reaches for his face. Pets it, strokes his hair, pain-fogged eyes locked on his own. 

Once, with a hysterical giggle, he proclaims a mirror didn't kill him after all. Unless- 

and the sentence trails off, leaving the  _unless_  up to horrible imagination. 

 By the time they arrive, he's gone dead silent and still. He's panting shallow and fast, eyes half-open, glassy and seeing nothing, and he's limp and utterly unresponsive. 

"Jesus." Sam whispers, as they near the torn town. "I don't know about you, but I did  _not_  sign on for this. I had no idea-" She takes a deep breath, glances back at him. "We need a place that's as safe as possible. Where is that?" She has pulled the car over- carrying Cecil will be  _hard_ , but it's safer then driving through town. "D'you have someone you can call?" 

 \-----------------------------------

 

He's numb again. The only way he can make it through this insanity and Cecil in this _condition_ \- oh, god - is if he tries not to feel anything until they are safe. 

 He's staring desperately at Cecil, like his gaze will magic the man back to health or something, and so it takes a moment for him to realize that Sam had spoken. "Yeah, yeah, I-" he coughs. Fumbles in his labcoat. Thank god, his phone is still there, they didn't take it from him earlier because he'd known it'd be no use to call for help.

 Carlos has her on speed dial. Of course he does. "Dana." he hisses, fast, the moment the phone is answered, "I need to get Cecil home. Now. We're on the edge of town, shouldn't be more than a few blocks away, what's the safest way."

 \---------------------------------

 She answers almost instantly, but he's talking before she can launch into a scathing attack; there is a pause, then, on a shaky breath- "Everything's pretty much chaos right now. Strex started pulling out about an hour ago like their tails were on fire, so you shouldn't actually hit too much trouble. But, uh, if you want to take even less of a chance, there's a little side street by Rico's, leads straight through to Cecil's apartment. You'll have to cross one main road but it's better then trooping through the center of town. Koshekh's prowling around the building so don't be spooked if you see him." 

There is a pause, then- "Carlos, what do I need to be prepared for? I have some first aid supplies here and I can probably get more, since Strex is on the run, but I need to know how bad what's walking through the front door will be. Tell me while you walk." 

 Sam makes grabby hands for the phone. "Carry him. I'll talk." She instructs, already climbing out of the car. "We need to move." 

Cecil is still limp and nonresponding as he is pulled from the car; dully his eyes roll, as if looking, but he doesn't  _see_  what's around him,  making a faint, weak sound as he swallows convulsively, but that's the extent of it. 

Except for his hand. His hand that again, locks in the front of Carlos's shirt. Clings. 

He's not even aware, and he's  _clinging_  to Carlos. 

 \----------------------------------

 

 Dana's - well, to put it bluntly, Dana is _horrified_ that there is someone else with them. No one could be trusted nowadays, not even most people you _knew_..much less a voice that you _didn't_. "Tell me how he is," she snaps, and her tone is cold, ruthless. "If Carlos trusts you then I'll listen, but don't think for one _fucking second_ you can get away with laying a finger on them."

 Cecil's not near as hot as he was before, but he still feels feverish, and his skin is clammy. "You're doing great," he whispers; a lie, but what else could he possibly say. "I'm so proud. We're almost there."

 \----------------------------

 

Sam doesn't waste time being offended, or hurt; she's a smart girl. Smart enough to realize  _why_  someone wouldn't trust a voice they didn't know, understands fully that Dana- this Dana woman- is obviously ferociously protective of these two and worried for them. But that doesn't stop her from flinching, a little. This entire time she hasn't felt like the Bad Guy, and now she does. Not only that, but this Dana woman is- 

 -well, that was not a tone you argued with. Sam responds almost on pure instinct, the way she might an older scientist barking at her for results. It's  _that_  tone. "Not good." She says, blunt and honest- pussy footing around it won't do them any good, and lying will only hurt them all, herself included. "Either of them. It's a very very long story but one of your boys is damn near catatonic. Massive strain on his mind and body both. Bleeding from the nose and mouth, exhausted, broken arm." She pauses, takes a breath. "And that's at a glance. Your other boy is up and mobile but beat to hell. Leg injury that keeps getting reaggravated, exhaustion, and, uh, he's- sort of- been shot." She grimaces, pressing her hand to her forehead. "And honestly I'm not sure what I can't see. He seems to be more physically stable but-" She glances at Carlos. "But I'm not sure. And mentally, not so much. Sorry not sorry." She adds, to Carlos. "You doin' okay with him?" 

Cecil twitches at his voice; seems to try to come out of it but in the end just closes his eyes fully. His grip is loosening; in just a few minutes more it slackens and drops and Cecil is under completely.

 \--------------------------------

 

Dana mutters something near unintelligible under her breath, to herself. An assessment of what she may need, of what she needs to fetch. Referring to them as Dana's boys had been a good move on Sam's part. They _were_ Dana's boys. And anyone who said differently was placing themselves directly in her way.

 Carlos doesn't even bother feeling offended; Sam's probably right about his mental state. "Me? _I'm_ doing _fine_ with him, but he-" Cecil's gone completely still, muscles slack, and Carlos.- who is looking paler now than usual - is cradling him. "he- we need to get there soon."

 "When you get to the building," Dana says, hearing Carlos' words, "Go in through the back, I'll leave it unlocked. I'll meet you there. We'll have to take the stairs up to Cecil's though, since the elevators are down."

 \----------------------------------

 

"Got it. Thanks." She's not just thanking her for  _them_ \- it's for her, too. For trusting her, at least to some degree. 'We can see the building. Carlos might need help getting him up, I don't know. Hey." She moves the phone, and her hand snakes out, brushes gently over the back of his as they walk. "Hang in there, Einstein, just a little longer. He'll be okay. He's tough."  

 


	19. Home

It's only a matter of minutes before they are directly outside; Sam is still on the phone, keeping Dana updated, half on eye on the pair behind her. "We 're right outside and headed up, Dan-ah!" The last is on a scream as she gets her first glance of Koshekh, in the window; she nearly drops the phone. " _Jesus_ , that is not a cat-" But not at all the time or place for it. She takes a deep breath, biting her lower lip, pulling the back door open for Carlos. Koshekh limps down to them at a jog, standing at the top of the stairs and calling to them loudly. Insistantly. He knows them, knows their scents, and the cat is obviously upset and distressed. 

 

There is also blood on his fangs and the pointed spikes on his spine. 

Sam is trying very hard not to look at him. 

\--------------------

Carlos, in the whole time that he has known that...'cat', has _never_  been more relieved to hear its disturbing meow-roar. He makes a sound that is as close to a laugh as he   can  manage. "Oh, that's - Koshekh, hey,  we're coming, hang on," he calls. 

 

A moment later and Dana's skidding around the corner, coming down the staircase at a sprint. "Jesus," she pants, eyes wide and worried as she sees how ragged they are, how bloodied, how.. "I wasn't sure if-" she barely gives Sam a glance. Just presses a kiss to Carlos's forehead. "Here, I'll help bring him up." Her arms are sliding under Cecil.

"N-no, Dana, I-"

"Carlos. I love you, but. Please. Shut  _the fuck up._ " She takes Cecil under the arms, supporting his torso. "C'mon. Up   we go."

\--------------------

 

Koshekh calls to them again, pacing circles at the top of the stairs, Carlos's voice earns a particuarly loud  _mow_ , and for all the horror of his call he sounds like any other pet, distressed and scared and wanting his daddy. Daddies, though Carlos has a distinct second place in his heart. He runs down only after Dana does, and his head  _slams_  into Carlo's legs in a firm headbutt. Rubs against him, lets out another 'meow' and stands on hind-legs to bat at Cecil's hand. 

When there is no reaction, his ears pin, and he takes to circling them, letting out cries of distress that make the kitten in Sam's pocket cringe and the woman herself clamp her hands to her ears. 

"Carlos, come here." It's firm but gentle, once Koshekh goes quiet for a minute. As Dana gets Cecil's torsoe, Sam's arm slips around Carlos. Helping him as he helps Dana; offering more stability to his steps then taking his weight, because the later would be impossible at the moment. Koshekh damn near trips them all as they make their way up, running around them and 'meowing' frantically; twice he has to be shooed away, and once Sam nearly lands on her face, but eventually they get him into the apartment. 

There is still no reaction. None when they get him down on the bed, none when Koshekh leaps up next to him, none when the cat headbutts him and lays down almost directly on his chest. Protective. The animal looks, pleadingly, up at Carlos,  _mows_  softer then it ever has before. 

Sam, for her part, hangs back. Out of the way. The kitten is huddled in her pocket still, and she pets it's head, stays out of the way and waits to be noticed or told what to do. 

 

 Right now, this isn't  _her_  place. 

 --------------------

 Carlos is so, so lucky - he realizes this as he stumbles up the stairs, Cecil's legs in his arms, torso in Dana's, and Sam at his side - to have these incredible friends.

 

 

 He's still numb as they lay him down on the bed, and as Dana immediately begins to undress Cecil, exposing his wounds. H _is wounds_ , dark bruises blooming across sickly pale skin, lacerations here and there. Carlos fetches an ice pack to lay on the limp figure's forehead.

He takes a chair next to the bed without hesitation.

The soft sound that Koshekh makes, looking up with desperation in its few-too-many eyes.... _that_ is what snaps Carlos out of his daze.

 "I know." he reaches over and scratches it behind the ears, and when he says "I know," again, his voice is a little choked up.

\--------------------

 

 Koshekh pauses, then one, two delicate paws on his legs, then the crippled third, and then the cat is on his lap. He climbs off Cecil and curls up in Carlos's lap, face pressed into his stomach, and lets out the growling, rumbling sound that is his purr. Kneads Carlos's leg gently, and even though Carlos is allergic, even though Koshekh has never been very  _close_  to him; there is shared understanding here. Someone they both love is badly hurt, and cat and human are scared and worried and there is mutual comforting to be done. 

 

 He  _huddles_  near Carlos's chest, and the big, ferocious animal is trembling. 

Cecil twitches. Moans. Doesn't wake up. Someone normally so lively, so  _alive_  and warm and expressive and now he is still and quiet, too thin, skin too warm. He  _yelps_ , even while unconscious, when Dana touches his broken arm; his back arches and he scrambles at the covers as if to escape. But he doesn't have the strength or energy to struggle for long, and in moments he's silent and still again. 

 Sam, at some point, materializes with a hand on Carlos's shoulder and gauze in the other. "Here. Let me see your arm." She tells him, gently, firmly, half an eye kept on Dana, almost as if asking permission. 

\----------------------

 

 Dana's hands are experienced and gentle, her expression kind concern. "Shh, Cecil, baby," she murmurs when he squirms, pressing his shoulder down to keep him still as possible until he relaxes. "Shh. Carlos is here. I'm here."

 

 She gives a little nod, not looking up, when she hears Sam speak. She'd rather do the medical care herself, but she doesn't have enough hands for the two men at the moment.

 Carlos wordlessly holds out his arm, grimacing a bit at the pull of blood-crusted fabric against the torn skin. 

 With his other arm though he cradles Koshekh as best he can, stroking the irregularly-growing patches of bristly fur. He'll probably get hives from this later, but oh well, none of that matters now.

He can tell how afraid and sad Koshekh is.

 He feels the same.

 ----------------------

 Cecil settles at the warm, familiar voice; his brow furrows, a little cough escaping him as he take a breath too deep, turning his head towards the sound of her. Floats up, up, opens his eyes for a moment to look at her but he's not going to remember this, not if the hazy look in his eyes is anything to go by. "...Dana?" Is the rasping, croaking question, And then, terrifyingly- " Who- who's Carlos?..."  With a confused, furrowed brow. "What- happen- I don't-" And his eyes close again, throat working. "Everything h-hurts." 

Sam winces at the words- oh, God,  _Carlos_ \- but her hands are steady and firm. "It's temporary, he's confused." She murmurs, gently working the ruined coat off his arm so she can better get at the wound. "Close your eyes, try to relax. You need sleep. And you're probably dehydrated as hell, too. Have you even been eating?..." 

 

\----------------------

 

 Carlos's gaze snaps toward Cecil.

 

 "Oh.." It's more of a breath than it is an exclamation. His brows furrow. Mouth opens, and he makes as though to say something else, but then it closes again, and he clenches his teeth together and makes a low, soft, barely-audible moan. He doesn't hear Sam's question, or feel her hands pulling the cloth back.

 Dana looks somewhat alarmed as well. She looks up at Sam, makes a sharp gesture with her hand. "Get him into the other room," she hisses, "onto the couch.  Cecil's delirious. He doesn't need to hear any of this."

\----------------------

 

 She nods once, sharply, taking Carlos's good arm in her own. "C'mon, sweetheart." She murmurs, firm but gently. "You heard her. You heard us both. He's confused, he's delusional, Carlos." Firm tug. "It's alright. It's gonna be alright." She forces Koshekh to leap to the floor- the cat arches his back and hisses at her but doesn't attack, instead running up onto the bed to stand over a surprised Cecil and glare at her. The blonde glances over at them, brow furrowed, lips parted, his foggy eyes confused and a little frightened. 

 

"...Who-  Da-" He closes his mouth, whimpers, good arm wrapped around himself. "What- I- hi, kitten." In a tone that suggests he doesn't recognize Koshekh, either, but is pleased to see a fluffy cat on his chest. He closes his eyes and drops his head back, tries to curl up. "Want Earl." He whispers, a strange thing to say even now, and then, "''s okay, right? Dana? Right? What- w-what happe-ow-" 

Behind him, Sam gives Carlos a more firm shove. Doesn't need to hear this indeed. She doesn't know who 'Earl' is, but she doubts it's a good thing for Carlos. 

\------------------------

 

 Dana's busy stroking Cecil's cheek and telling him that, yeah, everything is alright, of _course_ everything is alright. "Now's the time for you to rest, okay?  We can talk about things later." However, she does visibly cringe at the mention of Earl.

 

 Carlos presses his hand over his face for a few long moments, unmoving. Finally he brushes his hand back through his hair, swallows hard, and gives a small nod toward the ground. 

 He knows that Cecil is sick and exhausted and doesn't know where or when he is...

 ...but, for some reason, that doesn't make this much easier.

 He nods again, this time to Sam, and heaves himself up to his feet.

 -------------------------

 "Okay." Small and trusting but also simply exhausted and too hurt to argue; he leans into her hand, smiles up at her with sweet innocence. He is tired, he admits groggily, really tired, more then he's ever been and he's not sure why. He closes his eyes, still nuzzling into her palm like a kitten. He's always been so tactile, he  _loves_  to touch and be touched. That hasn't changed, it seems, as he whispers fears of reeducation- it's the only thing that hurts this bad, is that what happened?- and attack into her palm. It takes long minutes for him to start to drift off, sleepy worry for everyone on a tongue that trips more and more. "So long as everyone is alright."   He slurrs, at long last- this time, he  _lets_  himself go back under, drifting into something less like unconciousness and more like true sleep. 

Sam guides him out, to the living room, the couch. She's quiet while she dresses his wound, and then, out of the blue-

 

 -her arms are around him. The hug is warm and tight, nothing but friendship, and she strokes his hair and squeezes the back of his neck gently. "It's okay." She whispers. "We're two of the most brilliant godsdamn minds around, and from what I've seen, he adores the hell out of you. That girl, Dana, she's made of some pretty scary stuff. We will make this okay, Carlos. We can do this.  _He_  can do this. You're safe. You're home. It's going to be okay." 

 -------------------------

  _So long as everyone is alright._

 

 Dana doesn't want to lie. "You're safe now, that's the most important thing," she says, although she knows that Cecil's already slipping back under. He looks so exhausted and sickly and it breaks her heart to see him like this, voice raspy and weak, body sluggish and then, at long last, still.

 But it's still _him_. And she hadn't been sure whether or not she would even be able to _see_  him again... if ever.

 So she can't afford to be picky, right?

 Carlos doesn't realize how much he has been needing the comfort and the affirmations until Sam's arms are around his body, her breath in his ear.  She is petite, but she is _living_ and _warm_ and he finds himself clutching at the back of her labcoat, his face buried in her hair. " We never could have made it this far without _you_ ," he whispers.

\--------------------------

 

 She laughs, letting him hold her, cuddles against him the way a little sister might, the sound sad and a little amused but mostly just airy and aching. "Now  _that_  I refuse to believe.  I think you two could take on hell itself and come out up." She informs him, though she blushes a little. "But you're welcome for being amazing." She gives him a squeeze, sighs gently. "No, really." More seriously, "you're welcome and thank you. You- didn't have to give me a chance. And I won't let you down." 

 

She stays there, for a long moment; offering and giving comfort. He's exhausted and hurting and  _scared_  and trying so hard, and he needs someone to lean on. It's the least she can do. 

Cecil, in the bedroom, stays unconscious this round; doesn't respond to her or the cat. He is terrifyingly still, breath shallow, body coated in a thin layer of sweat. Despite that, he  _shivers_ , violently. He has, at least, stopped crying out, stopped asking for people- if this impossible stillness is better or worse, though, is hard to say.

\--------------------------

 

 "I know you won't let us down. I have complete faith in you." He doesn't want to feel needy or clingy, but her reciprocating the affection is reassuring and calming. 

 

 

 Carlos smiles gently and a little awkwardly. "Sam, I... I don't know whether or not you have somewhere to go, or if you have people who need you. But. Uh. This.. Cecil and Dana and myself? We'll always be here, alright? And it'd be no problem at all if you were to stay. Seriously. We owe you that, at the very least."

 Sitting by the bed, Dana presses the ice pack to Cecil's forehead. She worries about his stillness, naturally. But the more rational part of her mind knows that this is good. He needs to relax, to rest.

 "Need fresh washclothes," she calls.

 ---------------------------

 "I think Dana might have a few words about that." She giggles tiredly, but doesn't even try to let go. His arms are comforting and strong and he is solid and comfortable in her arms; he's nice to hug. It's a strange thought to have, but true _._ "But- thanks, Carlos. Really, thanks. I don't really know anything right now, but- but I'd like to be here at least until I'm sure you're okay. Both of you." She sniffles a little- she's not  _quite_  crying, but she's not totally steady, either. His trust- his  _faith -_ is one of the most touching things she's encountered, and even though she barely knows these people, she feels absurdly close to them. 

 

 

Dana's call is all that makes her pull back. 

"You," Firmly, though a little wetly. " _stay put_. I'll bring her what she needs and then come back down here and then come back down here for you. Just- take it easy, Carlos. Relax. I know you're worried and I know this is hard, but you need to try to." 

She kisses his forehead lightly before slipping into the room with Dana, carrying the requested clothes. She's a little timid, but there's no time or room for it right now; she brings them to Dana without hesitation, her gaze slipping over to the apparently sleeping form. "At least he's quiet." She offers, very softly. "Resting. It's the first time I've seen him  _rest_  this entire time. He needs it."

\-------------------------

 

 "I'm not letting her kick you out. She'll listen to me," he insists. She'd have to. Dana may be protective, and she may hold grudges, but that didn't change the fact that she had a warm heart and wouldn't do anything that was too absurdly inhumane. "Y-yeah. Yeah. Okay, I will. I'll try." Carlos releases her, and folds his good arm over his chest because he needs to hold _something_ or _someone_. He gives her a little smile that is supposed to be reassuring, and half succeeds. The rest of his expression is just exhausted.

 

______________________________

The action- the  _smile_ \- breaks her heart.  He's trying so hard,  _so hard_ , and she wants to just- make it better for him,  _fix this_  for them both,  wants to make that smile  _honest_. 


	20. An Outsider

 

"I'll be right back." She promises, feeling oddly guilty for leaving him; but Dana needs help, and Carlos doesn't need to be the one running around. So she gets the requested wash-clothes, and hands them over, watching Dana with the awkward uncertainty of someone who knows she isn't totally welcome. 

"He seems so light-hearted." She whispers, her voice tiny and reverent. "I mean, in the- moments where- things were sort of okay. Playing with kittens and dancing and- I mean- he seemed like that kind of person who..."  _Who let things just be_.But then she remembered how he'd  _pushed_ , at the end, how he'd forced himself to keep going. How he'd been so worried. so loving. 

She bites her lip. 

"That's a lot to carry around." She agrees instead, gently, not moving, not yet. "But he's not carrying it by himself. I'm not sure  _he_  sees that- I'm not sure either one of them do- but he doesn't." She takes a deep breath, then add, "Did you know? How not human he is?" The questions slips out almost without permission. "Because he is...really, really not human. Or at least- not only." She moves at last, collecting the old wash clothes, cautious, a little bit skittish.

\----------------------------------

It is a subtle difference, not noticeable unless someone is looking for it. Dana's tension begins to ease. Not that she is especially trusting of Sam; she's not, not at all. But the girl can see who Cecil is, what he is like, and that _has_ to count for something.

 "He _is_ ," Dana replies, voice quiet. "He's easily pleased; he's one of those people who enjoy all sorts of things in life."

 Then Sam continues, and the tone changes. 

 The ex-intern's brow furrows, and, finally, she looks up at the woman standing nervously beside the bed.

 She speaks slowly, picking and choosing the words carefully. "In what way do you mean...? He's not _normal_ , per se - I've seen how much power his voice has in this town, and how uncannily he can understand people - but I don't think I'd go so far as to say 'not human'." A small, bitter smile, and Dana snorts. "But then again, you're Strex _and_ you're an outsider. You might have entirely different standards of what 'human' is."

 -----------------------------------

She smiles slightly; people like that didn't  _exist_  often enough; people who just got high on life as  _life_ , who enjoyed it for what it was and took joy in it, ups and downs alike. Rare and beautiful and she remembers him dancing in his cell and the way he'd so gleefully greeted her kitten, and smiles softly. "I bet he's lovely." She replies, quietly. "When- in better situations. I bet they both are."  She takes a breath, closing her eyes and choosing her  _own_ words very carefully.  She flinches slightly-  _You're Strex **and** you're an outsider_ . Dana couldn't be more pointed if she had a knife-tip. She looks away, takes a deep breath.    


Dana has every right to be angry at her. Mistrustful. 

"I'm pretty positive no one's standards would call what I saw today human." She replies, voice carefully bland. "He tore the building apart with his mind. With his  _will_." She pauses, then, keeping a careful eye on Dana, brushes a hand over the tattoo of the third eye on Cecil's forehead. "There are all kinds of legends and stories about- about third eyes. About creatures who have them. He'd put most of that to shame." She pulls her hand back, a little surprised when Cecil follows it- leans into it as if missing the contact. "Just- so you know. What happened to him. Well. Part of." She offered a little shrug. "And because I'm not- entirely sure what might wake up. Just. Be careful. You know?"

\------------------------------------   


She has a point. There was a distinct difference between what Dana knew as Cecil and...whatever it was that could do something like _that_. And three eyes? Not something she'd seen happen with the broadcaster before.   


 The Strex girl may be an outsider, but Dana got the impression that this was more than just some of the common paranoia or fear that people not used to Night Vale often expressed.

 "I appreciate it," she says, glancing up for just a moment to the girl's face. "You - and Carlos, obviously - are gonna have to give me a more detailed explanation later. But this'll do for now."

A brief silence, and then, "...Your name?"

 \-------------------------------------

 A tiny, twitching smile. "Sam." She replies, quiet, almost shy. "Samantha, but- Sam's less of a mouthful. I'd say 'nice to meet you', but the situation-" She shrugs, looks away and rubs the back of her neck awkwardly, unsure where the abrupt shyness comes from and wishing it would leave. The best explanation she can come up with is that now that adrenaline has faded away, her mind and body has room for feeling the things she's been blocking out, and this Dana makes her feel very small and very self-conscious. 

"We will. Carlos knows- way more then I do. I just know what I saw, and what-" A pause, and she bites her lip. "What Strex-  I know- sort of what they- we\- were trying to do. I don't think anyone...expected what we got. I'm not sure what it was." She shoots another look at Koshekh- the cat hisses at her- and arches a brow. 

"...To be fair, I have the feeling I'd better get _used_  to being off balance." Then she flinches when she realizes she'd just implied she'd be staying. 

Carlos was alright with her- Dana was not.  "For- for a while, anyway. Look. uhm- is there anything else you need? Otherwise I should- I don't think Carlos needs to be left alone right now."

\-----------------------------------

 "Alright." It's a small, simple response, but it is a sign that Dana is accepting of this explanation. Which is saying something, considering the situation and all.

 "I'll ask him when the time's right."

 Dana makes a face at Koshekh, reaching down to pull him up into her lap. She's not his  _favorite_ person, no, not at all, but over the span of time that they've been living in close proximity he's had to get used to her.

And there were many long nights of worrying on both of their parts. The company, albeit inter-species company, was appreciated.

 "Yeah, I- no. No, it's fine, go." She waves a hand. "He needs someone to be there. Let me know if you need help or something."

\-----------------------------------  


 He growls irritably  as he's lifted, but he doesn't try to scratch her, or flick that dangerous tail at her face (he's done that before) - right now, anyway, he is insecure and scared, and even if this person isn't  _daddy_  it is a familiar and friendly face and set of arms, and he'll take what he can get, apparently. And indeed- there is an odd bonding in being scared and alone together.  He curls up in her lap with a grumble, his eyes locked on Cecil, but headbutts slightly into her hand. 

"Just- call. If you need whatever." She's biting her lip softly, surprised by how  _non-_ _aggressive_  Dana is being but not exactly prepared to argue it. This entire situation is strange; strange and tense and she decides Dana just has her priorities straight. 

God knows there are bigger things to worry about then Sam. 

Still, she almost flees from the room, all but tripping over herself. 

It is the work of hours to get both men cleaned up and cared for. Cecil stays half-delirious when he's even awake- he doesn't ever really seem to know where he is, wants Dana and Earl and once or twice even his mother; he's scared when he wakes up, confused, sees things that aren't there. 

And the one time he sees Carlos, he  _screams_. 

As for that man- Sam makes it her personal mission to try and take care of him, but he makes it hard. He has to  _eat_ , has to  _rest_ , Carlos, sleep , Carlos, take a shower, let me see your leg. She knew it was healing well, but with all the times the injury has been aggravated she's honestly concerned it'll never honestly heal properly; that he'll end up with a determinant limp, or a reoccurring one, at least. She's concerned about infection in the bullet wound, too, and does her best to keep it clean. 

But she's more worried about where his head is. It can't be easy, any of this; maybe even more difficult then when they were captured. Because this isn't some outside force they can stand against together. 

And, in all that, there is still the fact that she can't look Dana in the godsdamn eye. For many reasons. Still, the woman is  _incredible_  in a crisis, and Sam is glad she's there. She's...fairly positive she couldn't do this alone. 

\------------------------------------------

Seeing the two people who matter most to her in the world is not easy for Dana; it wouldn't be easy for _anyone_ with human emotions. 

But Dana, in her short life, has lived and experienced much more than most people would in ten average lifetimes. Those experiences have taught her so many things. The most important truth that she learned is that sometimes what is most important isn't to be sad,  to reflect, to hate or to place blame.. Sometimes immediate events are more important than all of that. Sometimes _people_ are more important.  


 So Sam is - or was - with Strex. And Dana doesn't like that, not one bit.

 But now is not the time to reject a pair of caring hands.

 Carlos does not reject Sam's care either. He's not especially enthusiastic about it either, but he is reluctantly compliant, and when she tells him to do something he at _least_ makes a halfhearted effort to. When she's not fussing over him or keeping him in he living room, Carlos hobbles over to watch Cecil sleeping from the doorway.

 When Cecil wakes and sees him and _screams_ , that scream is all that Carlos can hear for the next several hours. 

The pillow doesn't drown it out. Sam's shirt doesn't drown it out either, though, as time passes, her scrawny arms holding him tight begins to ease the throbbing in his head.

Finally the scientist is curled up on one side of the couch, arms around his head. He is either a) asleep, or b) as close to sleep as he can manage.

Cecil has been asleep for a bit by now, and Dana is standing in the doorway. She gestures for Sam to follow her into the kitchen - at least there's no one asleep in there. "We need to have a talk," she whispers, and leaves, knowing the other will follow her.

\-----------------------------------

Sam holds him. It's all she can do- and what else  _could_  she do, coming out to see him burying himself in an effort to escape from the memory of his boyfriend's cry, so obviously  _hurting_. What else  can she do, as someone with  _empathy?_ He's not her friend- not really, not yet. But he is a good person, good and kind and gentle and loving, and he doesn't deserve this, and she doesn't need to have known him for a long time to know that. He's  _good_  -one of the few really, honest good people in the world, and she wraps him up in her arms before she gives herself permission. 

She holds him until he starts to relax, presses her face into his back and coos nonsense softly; strokes his hair and arms and sings soft, lilting songs to him; anything to try and take the sound of Cecil's scream from his mind. In the end,  _something_  worked- or he'd just finally given in to exhaustion. She wasn't sure which, but either way, so long as he was resting, goal met. 

 She carefully untangles herself from him, has only just finished freeing herself from the blankets and covering Carlos with them again when Dana calls her name. 

 She flinches, slightly- but of course, she'd been expecting this, eventually. She follows Dana into the kitchen, feeling absurdly like some kind of day-time drama-commedy, where they always solved all problems by calling someone into the kitchen.  _Full House_  or  _Golden Girls_. 

Except those shows always had happy endings, and she's not at all sure those happen in real life. 

 She closes the kitchen door gently, turns to face Dana with hands in her pockets, expression carefully neutral. "Alright." She says, taking a slow breath. "So talk." 

\------------------------------------------  


Dana is watching Sam closely. The girl is nervous, that much is obvious, but (and Dana really can't help but think this with a little bit of vicious pride) she  _should_ be.  Especially if she tries to lie. She had better not try to lie.   


"You aren't from here," she murmurs, slowly, leaning back against the counter with arms folded across her chest. "So it would make sense if there're certain things about this town that you don't get. But no one - and I mean  _no one -_ who I don't know extremely well can be trusted."  


 "Especially not someone who works with  _them_."

 "For whatever reason, though, Carlos seems to trust you. And, don't get me wrong, he's  _terribly_ naive at times, and he likes to see the best in people. This time I'm thinking there's more to it than that. But I've got to  _make sure_ , understand? Can't afford to take any more chances."

 She shoots Sam a grimace-smile. "Tell me about yourself. What do you do. Why  _them._ "

\--------------------------------------------  


"Your cat has spines. Your friend's boyfriend turned into a three-eyed monster and destroyed a building with his  _mind_. Yeah, I'd say there's a lot I don't understand." Her tone is sharper then she wants it to be, and she bites the inside of her cheek. "Okay. No. you're right. That's fair. You've got no reason to trust me- actually, you do, but you  _don't,_ and-"  _Smooth, Sam._  She tries again. "If I was going to hurt them, I would have done it. But I understand- I'm the enemy, in your mind, and I'm a stranger. I'd probably be the exact same way you are, right now." She knows she would. "I  _do_  understand. This is your home, and those are your friends."   


She runs a hand through her hair now, grimaces herself slightly. She's really not all that keen on spilling her entire history to some stranger in a kitchen, and they don't have time for it, anyway. "I'm a scientest. Same as him. Well, not  _exactly_  the same, he's- much better then me. But similar fields of work. I'm not completely sure how much he and I actually  _differ_ , I only- only really knew his name before this whole thing started. Everyone  _knew_  him. I don't think you care about specifics, though." A weak smile, a tiny shrug.   


 "As for why Strex?" She bit her lip, laughed again, a little bitterly. "Would you believe it was never a choice? My parents are Strex. Were Strex, I- guess, I don't. Actually know if they're alright or not." 

 And that was something she hadn't even thought about, until right now. 

Jesus, how had she not even thought about it? 

 \---------------------------------------------

 Sam's acknowledgement and validation of what Dana was thinking and feeling felt... reassuring? It didn't make sense for it to be, logically-speaking. _Any_ sly bastard could try to use praise and agreement to make someone bring their guard down. Hopefully this was not one of those cases. It didn't _feel_ like it, for whatever reason.

 She listened, not moving. Carlos had been high-ranking, yeah, he had mentioned that earlier. It was a fact that - understandably - didn't sit well with Dana. Later, when he was in better condition, the two of them needed to have a loooong long  talk about it.

 There was something in Sam's sentiment that Dana found oddly relatable. And although she by no means wanted to open herself up too much to a stranger... For the sake of hospitality, silence didn't seem like an option either.

 "I get how that feels. Everyone assumed I would die while I was an intern at the radio station. I had no choice in the matter. It was destiny, supposedly." She shrugged, an action that seemed far too nonchalant for the conversation topic, and pressed her palms to the edge of the counter. "But, well. Years passed. And here I am."

\----------------------------------------------  


"You would di-" She stops, blinking, one corner of her lip kicking up. Desert Bluffs is a weird as fuck place, yeah, but-   


"Just how many interns does the radio station go through, exactly?" Her voice is a little more high-pitched then she would have liked it to be, but God help her- everything is finally starting to hit, and she can feel something that isn't unlike hysteria wanting to bubble up. She'd always known something wasn't quite  _right_  about Strex, about Kevin- creepy little fucker- about Diego. About her  _home_. But this place...it took weird and gave it a run for it's money.   


Dying radio interns, a monster for a radio host, and a cat with spikes.   


 No. Not a monster. She needs to stop thinking of him like that. He's not a monster. A monster would have killed indescriminatly, wouldn't have held so tightly to Carlos's hand. 

 He's terrifying and terrible but he's not a monster. 

  _And here I am_. Here she is. Somehow, Sam isn't surprised Dana survived against odds that were, apperantly, less then favorable. She's known the woman a day or so and already sees a deep-running strength. 

 "Well, I can say I'm pretty glad you aren't dead." She breathes, then realizes how it sounds compared to how it was meant and flinches. "I mean- otherwise we'd all be sort of...up a creek without a paddle right now." No one willing to give her a chance, no one to help them- no safe place. 

 Besides, that, these are people unlike any she's ever known, and a little voice whispers that later, when everything is calm, she'll be so glad to have met them. 

 "I didn't sign on to hurt people." She says, after a minute. "And I sure as hell didn't sign on to cause- all this. Hell, when Cecil first showed up, everyone was telling me- us- that he was  _dangerous_  and that we were doing something good, getting him contained. Told us all we'd be doing was running tests and keeping him confined for everyone's safety. And then instead of some- asshole or monster they drag in this skinny as hell little nerd-boy who looks scared out of his mind and Carlos is looking like he's about to  _cry_  and-" She sighs. "And i realized pretty quickly something wasn't quite what I'd been told it was." 

\--------------------------------------------------  


Dana forgets, sometimes, that not _every_ place that takes on interns has such a high casualty rate. It's become such a norm, so _expected_. Again she shrugs. "No clue. I'm not even sure they bother keeping records of all of their interns, to be completely honest. Cecil could probably answer your question better than I could, though."   


 "I'm glad I'm alive too."

 Sam's words are fumbling and awkward, but Dana understands what it is that she is trying to say. She arches her back and stretches, hands behind her head. "Also glad I was _here_ in time. So I could save Koshekh and the apartment. Both'll help Cecil recuperate better than some haphazard lifeless shelter could."

And then, despite how serious the topic is and how serious Sam is, Dana snorts at Sam's description of Cecil as a 'skinny as hell little nerd-boy'. It's humorously accurate.

 Then, more solemnly. "I'm not-" she clears her throat, and just for a fraction of a second a flicker of discomfort crosses her face. She tries again. "I'm not saying that I understand why you did what you did, being with them, because on an emotional level I have yet to fully empathize with your story." A hesitation, and she squints. "But I _do_ believe that you saw what they were feeling. And I believe that you cared about their wellbeing. And I-" Dana grinds her teeth together. She doesn't like this part of the conversation, it feels weird and unfamiliar. 

 "I..owe you thanks for that."

 \------------------------------------------------

 Sam flushes, a little, rubs at the back of her neck with a shrug. "You're welcome." She says, though her tone suggests she's not entirely sure she's 'owed' anything. It's obvious Dana doesn't care for this, though, and Sam's not  _about_  to rub her face in it. She's very aware how lucky she is. So no big, drawn out show about how she doesn't deserve it. The fact of the matter is, she understands, really,  _why_  Dana is thanking her. 

Sam brought her boys back. 

"Honestly?  I don't expect you to. Not now, maybe not ever." She takes a deep breath, looks Dana directly in the eyes even though it's hard. "Hell, you tell me you think that boy laying in that bedroom is going to  _understand_  why Carlos stayed with Strex, and I'll pay you a hundred bucks. And those two are so close they may as well be one person, from what I saw. So I certianly don't expect a near-stranger to understand. I don't even expect a friend to understand. All I ask is that you recognize that I'm  _not_  with them. Eventually." Because there was no way that was going to happen overnight.   


She knew better then that. But she also wouldn't let herself be abused for something she didn't deserve.   


\------------------------------------------------  


Sam's request - no, actually, it's far more of a demand, isn't it - throws Dana off for a moment. Considering how meek and sheepish Sam seems to be in her voice and her body language, that abrupt flash of steadfast will is unexpected.  


An interesting development. Dana's eyebrows raise.  


She slides off the counter, the movement smooth and nonchalant. "I'll promise to keep as much of an open mind as possible, if you promise not to give me any reason to believe otherwise." A step or two forward, and Dana extends a hand. "Deal?"  


\---------------------------------------------  


Sam watches her come carefully, warily, like an animal might watch a threat- she expects agression, she expects  _something_ , and she gets...  


this. Something that is a chance, even if it's a chance with a lot of strings attached. She pauses, unsure and skittish, but then takes the extended hand cautiously. Hers is small and calloused, grip surprisingly strong; and it's then that the tiny kitten chooses to finally poke it's head out of her pocket and mew quite loudly before hoping onto the table.   


It's singed, bleeding from one leg, and obviously shaken and scared- but surprisingly alright. Sam makes a dive for it- " _No_ , Puppy, get back here-" But the little creature has already leapt to the floor and is investigating the kitchen with the quick, scuttly movements of a frightened cat. It runs to Dana, skitters away from her just as quickly, and then it's bolting towards the living room with Sam hissing  _"Puppy! Dammit-_ " Behind it, not wanting to wake the man finally sleeping in there.   


\------------------------------------------------  


Dana's all prepared to fucking _stomp_ on whatever potential risk the sudden flash of movement is, but then... oh.  


 Oh. A _kitten_?? 

 She's more skeptical than anything else. Puppy's a weird name but, hey, she's heard people name their pets far worse and far more terrifying names than just something as quirky as this.

 Koshekh - wherever he had come from, she hadn't noticed him there- makes a peculiar sound Dana has never heard, which can only be described as a deep throaty gurgle. He bounds after Sam, after... uh, "Puppy", and Dana really has no choice but to follow.

\-------------------------------------------  


Puppy doesn't notice Koshekh at first; too busy investigating everything. He skitters from point A to point B with quick, skittish motions, and leaps up on the back of the couch; luckily doesn't jump  _on_  Carlos. Sam freezes, not wanting to disturb him, and Puppy jumps down a moment later, lands lightly-   


-and freezes when he sees Koshekh.   


Instantly, the kitten puffs up into a tiny ball of fluff. The hiss is itsy bitsy and pathetically ineffective, and he begins to back up slowly, growling a tiny kitten growl.   


Sam stops, looking between Koshekh and Puppy. Her lip is between her teeth, and she glances back at Dana. "He won't- uh- he's not exactly- please tell me he's not trying to eat my kitten." 

To her credit, she sounds more  _exasperated_  then terrified.   


\--------------------------------------------  


Dana's not alarmed, but she is kind of curious. As far as she can tell Sam's kitten is a typical cat, with no abnormalities, and Koshekh has never had the opportunity to interact with something so normal before.   


 "I'm pretty sure he's not going to eat it," and she doesn't bother hiding the fact that she's amused. "He doesn't sound especially angry."

 And he isn't; spike ridge is laying low, ears perked moving ever closer as the kitten slowly backs up . He makes the throaty sound again, dark indigo tongue flicking out in a way that is almost snake-like.

 \-----------------------------------------------

 The kitten hisses- it's not a very intimidating sound, a tiny little sound from a tiny little- very fluffed up- ball of fur. It  hits the couch, but rather then crawl up continues to shrink away, letting out tiny, distressed mews between hissing. The fluffy tail lashes, wildly, and the little ears are pinned back in the fur. 

And even Sam's lips twitch.

"I hope 'pretty sure' is good enough." But she can see it, too- Koshekh doesn't look  _aggresive_. He looks curious. "Puppy. It's alright, kitty. I think." She is a little fidgity- motherly worry, alarm for something she loves- but she's not lunging in to save her baby. "Are-  _all_  cats here like him?..." 

 \--------------------------------------------------

 Koshekh, unfazed by the kitten's obvious fear and alarm, continues his approach. His tail curls up in a question mark sort of shape, and he makes a snorting sound, reaching out one paw - with claws carefully sheathed - curiously.

 "Oh, man," Dana murmurs, one hand coming up to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear. "I wish I had a straight answer for you. He's the only cat I've really seen here, besides his kittens. I wouldn't be surprised if there _are other cats_  in Night Vale, but chances are likely they'd be strange in a whole nother way."

 \---------------------------------------------------

 The kitten doesn't lash out, thankfully- it just cringes back further, watching. It hasn't been hurt so far, and while it's scared, it's also obviously slightly curious. It's ears have vanished into it's head-fur, and it's tail lashes like a waving little pinecone. The kitten's eyes flick up to watch the paw, and it  _maos_ softly, flinching down. 

Sam arches a brow, her eyes at last flicking back over to Dana. She has a very direct gaze, when she's being serious; now, though, she seems to have trouble looking right into the other woman's eyes, focusing somewhere around her nose. "The  _only cat_? How  can he be the only cat?" She manages, and there's laughter that is a tiny bit on edge in her voice. "And kitten- wait. Wait wait.  _His_  kit-" She stops. 

 The only cat Dana has seen. 

  _His_  kittens. 

 "...Dana." Carefully, and that's actually a tone not unlike one Carlos has had before. The tone that says  _what I am thinking can not possibly be true, I think I missed a step or ten here_. "Dana, please tell me what you mean is you found a litter of kittens that you think he must have fathered." 

 \-----------------------------------------------------

 The adult cat flicks out his tongue again, pressing himself to the ground like he's trying to get to eye-level with the kitten. He clearly doesn't _want_ to scare it... But on the other hand, it's so hard _not_  to.

 Dana recognizes that tone instantly. And it's endearing, admittedly.

 "Sam." She pats the girl's shoulder, and the corner of her mouth twitches into something that is half on its way to becoming a smile. "Things in Night Vale work in all sorts of strange ways, and since I grew up here, I'm not the best person to answer your questions. Ask Carlos later. He can tell you about the science of stuff."

\--------------------------------------------------------  


The kitten pricks it's ears at that; finally some of the fluff seems to fade away a little, and wary curiosity starts to replace fear. It's not unlike every other outsider to Nightvale's weirdness; first fear, then confused curiosity, then, if they're the right sort of person, interest and acceptance. The lashing tail slows, and then-   


 _boop_.   


 The kitten's paw, claws in, bats at Koshekh's nose. It's half defiant- now that the older cat is obviously not threatening, the kitten, in the way of all kittens, now thinks he's big and tough- and half cautiously playful, and he  _boops_  again. Waits to see what will happen, still slightly poofy, still pressed back against the couch. 

Sam startles, a little, at the touch; it's  _almost_  a flinch. Then she offers a weak smile back- tiny and unsure- rubbing at the back of her neck. "I'm starting to see that." She murmurs, one eyebrow  inching it's way up. "I'm- not sure if I should be alarmed or not, to be perfectly honest." 

 At the mention of the man, her gaze moves back to his form; unsure if he's  _sleeping_  or just so tired and  _done_  that he's more or less checked out. "I am curious, though." She adds, very soft, almost shy, like, she shouldn't be allowed to be. "As  _hell._ Maybe he will." Pause, and she bites her lip. "I'd say I cansee why he fell in love with this place, but-" Tiny smirk. "Somehow I doubt mysterious powers and weird cats are the reason." 

\-------------------------------------------------------  


Koshekh's eyes widen somewhat in surprise. His pupils contract to pin-pricks, and then slowly begin to dilate more and more and more until almost his entire eyes are black. After a moment or two, as the kitten hesitates, the long snake-like tongue flicks out and across the kitten's face. The older cat makes the car motor sound that is its purr.  


 "It's alight to be nervous or afraid, everyone is. It's a natural reaction." Hell, the only reason that Dana isn't _still_ living in fear is only because she has _survived_ some of the town's most horrifying phenomena.

 Dana notes Sam's little smirk. She does have a point. "Ha. Yeah," Dana replies, slipping her hands into her pockets. "I didn't get to know Carlos very well until he and Cecil got together. But, seriously... these two are really something. I can't believe I used to worry that Cecil's crush might be one-sided."

\-------------------------------------------------------------  


The kitten  _mews,_ flinches back again- but after a moment seems to realize and bounces around the older cat, back arched, fluffed up, the boxing, play fight action. It's still unsure- it darts away, out of reach, but then dances back in. It  _wants_  to be friendly, it's just scared half to death, though Koshekh's obvious friendliness is helping. It  _maos?_ cautiously, tail still lashing, but it's slowly becoming more  _play_  and less  _fear_.   


"...apperantly for cats, too." Sam is watching the pair, giggling softly now. "Puppy's being braver then I expected. And Jesus, is he  _purring?"_ She laughs a little harder, hand over her mouth and eyes dancing. "Oh my God, I should be scared to death of him but that's charming." It fades after a moment, and she cants her head, smiles in a more mild little way. 

 "Ahhh, so it was mr radio-broadcaster that made the first move, hu? Somehow I'm not surprised. He seems- quiet. Carlos, I mean. And Cecil...I didn't get to know him well, but he seems...not. Quiet." She smirked again, slowly. "So you're not- angry? Or- I mean- are you? Angry?" 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------  


The older cat seems pleased by the younger's energetic playfulness; it's been a while since he's had his own kittens to play with, and so having this kitten (despite its weird plain-ness) is kind of fun. He leaps up onto the end of the couch - the opposite side from there Carlos is curled- and peers back down at the kitten, head cocked as though daring the kitten to come up as well.  


Dana wants so badly _not_ to think that the girl's laugh is a nice sound, but it _is_ ; with so many dark and serious things going on, it's been a while since the intern has heard genuine laughter like that. "Yup, that's his purr, all right..."  


 The correction is a wise one. "Don't assume that I'm not." Dana gives Sam a sidelong look, eyebrows raised and lips pulling into a thin line. "He shouldn't have hidden it for so long, and _especially_ not once he was taken. I don't care that Strex would have been pissed- he should have found a way. Cecil was a  _wreck_ that entire time. He had to spend most nights with me, because he couldn't bear to be alone in their bedroom knowing that Carlos was either in extreme danger or had betrayed him." Dana pauses then, looks away. "I care a lot about Carlos. He's a good man. But he hurt Cecil down to the core, and I  can't just automatically get over that."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------  


Pause.   


Consider. 

Then a running leap, and the kitten attaches to the side of the sofa. not big enough to make it up in one leap yet. It takes two bouncing jumps to claw his way up, and then he's on the arm of the sofa, sniffing at Koshekh curiously and also Carlos's feet, before he jumps down to the sofa proper and sits, tail curled around his little feet, and cants his head at the older cat as much as if to say  _yes, okay, we're up here now. And? _

Sam nods slowly, weighing the words. Carlos made- a huge mistake, and she's not about to look for a way to excuse that. It's not her place to defend him, anyway. And she's fairly sure he doesn't really  _need_  it; Dana and Cecil are angry and hurt but they  _still love Carlos_. They'll get better. Eventually. Hurt that won't be forgotten, but forgiven.   


Dana is a little- scary. But she's also a very good woman, and a very good friend, and Sam doesn't need to be told to know it. The boys are lucky to call her  _theirs_ , and she fights back a little stab of jealousy. 

"I guess- I would be, too. He's- lucky. That his...to have family like you both." 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------  


It is then that, due to this new friendship of sorts, Koshekh's parenting instincts kick in. He rumbles deep in his chest and takes the kitten by the scruff of its neck.  


Dana's face softens a little. "I'd..like to think so. Thanks."


	21. That Meant Everything

And Koshekh takes one leap, easily and casually as any cat might, and lands on Carlos's stomach. Despite the similarities between Cecil's cat and normal ones, there are some very obvious differences. One of those differences being that Koshekh weighs at least ten or twenty pounds more than the typical cat.

Carlos jolts with a sharp exhale as the air is knocked out of him. He pants something incomprehensible, eyes wide with confusion and panic, half-asleep mind unable to figure out what is going on.

\-------------------------

The kitten squeaks in surprise, flails, and then goes limp on pure instinct; it couldn't really struggle even if it wanted to. But being taken like this is very like being picked up by  _momma_ , and the rasping little purr starts, uncertian and halting, the tail twitching and curious little  _mews_  escaping, not quite sure what's happening but at least fairly positive, now, that it won't be hurt. 

Sam moves- almost on instinct- and then stops, stutter-stepping; this is  _Dana's_  friend, and   _Dana'_  place. Still, she can't help, quick and quiet- "Carlos, sweetheart, you're fine. You're home, you're safe." She bites her lip softly, then throws caution to the wind and moves forward. "It's just- uhm. It's. The. Cat. 'Cat'." She eyeballs Koshekh, where the kitten is under him, blinking out from under his fluff with what looks like a combination of contentment and alarm. 

Her hand is gentle, in his hair, the lightest of brushes. Poor thing has his fair share of battering, too, she thinks; his body has taken less immediate trauma, and more damage over a period of time, but between it and the stress he looks...

Well. 

"Good morning." She murmurs, forcing her tone light. "Wake up call."

 --------------------------

 "Oh- _Jesus_ , Koshekh." Dana, having woken to the same surprise far too many times, rushed over. "Hey, hey, buddy, c'mon," she murmured, trying to work her hands under the cat to pick him up.

Koshekh whined in protest, clinging to Carlos's shirt with way-too-large claws.

It takes a long moment or two, but Carlos eventually realizes what is going on and eases back down into the couch. "A-ah," he exhales, voice a little rough with sleep, and nods. "'S okay," he says to Dana, "he just surprised me." He scratches Koshekh behind the ears- the cat motor-rumbles happily.  "How's Cecil?"

\--------------------------

 The kitten, pinned under Kosh, mews- but it seems more protest at his new furry shelter being moved, whiny and protesting. He nestles down happily between the big cat and Carlos's belly, it's own tiny motor turning on, peeking out from under at Carlos and offering another loud  _mao!_  As if to say,  _me, too!_

Sam smiles slightly- what, it's cute!- but it fades as the first question out of Carlos's mouth is about Cecil. Of course it is. Her lips thin, and she glances at Dana.  _No change_ , is the answer, last time  _she_  checked- and she can't help but hope Dana can offer something more optimistic. 

_This is my fault. Our fault_. 

 She thinks about the delrious man upstairs, half-dead- about this man, right in front of her, terrified and battered. About  _everything they had done to them_. And she feels tears sting her eyes, slightly. Tears of guilt, mostly, but hurt, too- for them. She presses the palm of her hand to her eyes, tries to make her voice steady. 

 "Uh, Dana? How was he, before you came down?" 

 \---------------------------

 Carlos's hand, though his mind is currently elsewhere, makes its way down to stroke the kitten's head tenderly. 

 She must have paused for a second too long, because Carlos echoes Sam. "Dana?"

Kneeling beside the couch, now, Dana rests her arm on the cushion by Carlos's leg. She meets his gaze; with these two men, she knows that it'd be far better to tell them the hard truth than to lie about it.

"Better...than before, that much I know for sure. He's not thrashing as much, and his temperature is down to something a little more stable. Closer to an average fever, now." Her fingers are curled into a loose fist, and it takes all of her willpower not to clench it. "He's still a little delusional though, Carlos, he.. he's not quite back to himself yet. Give him a day or so, or at _least_ a few more hours until we know for sure he is fast asleep. Then you can visit him."

 Carlos makes a soft sound, a whimper, practically. His brow furrows in frustration and anguish and he looks for all the world like he wants to sink all the way down into the couch.

 ---------------------------

 Sam bites her lip softly, not sure what to say or do to try and help. "He's getting better." She offers at last, softly. "There's that, Carlos. He's improving."  She pushes hair behind her ears, and, surprisingly, reaches out to gently brush a dark curl back. Checks  _him_  for fever while she's at it, and frowns. "You're a bit clammy yourself." She points out, gently. "You should try to eat something, get a bit more rest, anyway. You've been through the wringer, Carlos." 

The kitten's purr ramps up a notch; it butts into the hand, noms playfully at a finger and finally decides that yes, this is okay, this is good. It settles between Koshekh and Carlos's chest and closes it's little eyes, all but vanishing under the bigger cat. 

 ----------------------------

 Dana twitches a little at Sam's action, but she holds herself back. 

Carlos tilts his head to the side a bit, letting her do what she is doing. Her reaction though brings him to pull his mouth into a hard line. "I'm okay. I'm tired but I'm okay, stop -"

"Carlos," Dana says sharply, cutting him off. She rises to her feet and gives his thigh a pat. "Listen to Sam. She's right." 

He screws his eyes shut in irritation but doesn't protest any more.

Seeming satisfied, Dana looks down at Sam. Her eyes aren't quite _gentle_ , exactly, but they're..softer. "I need to go check in." On Cecil, of course. "Call if you need anything, alright?"

 \-----------------------------

 "Same here." She replies, and the gentle fever-checking has turned into an absent, soothing petting. she smooths over his hair, wishers her fingers across his scalp, coaxing him to relax, to rest. He doesn't seem to mind at all- aside from her fussing- and she peers down at him before sighing and pulling away. He's miserable, and she can't expect better, but it's still frustrating that she can't  _help_. She  _does_  smile at Dana- a little unsure, a little strained- and notices the softening. 

It's a step, anyway. 

"You." She gently nudges Carlos. "What do you need?" Because God knows he probably needs a  _lot_  of things, but she wants to know what's most pressing at this moment; painkillers, thirst, hunger. Having to pee, for God's sake. She's tempted to turn on the TV or a radio- heh- just for the soft white noise it will allow, knowing how soothing it can be. 

\------------------------------

 It feels weird, being doted on, and part of Carlos wants to roll over and hide his face and not talk to her. 

 But the rest of him? The gentle and soothing touches feel _good_. To be completely honest, it has been _quite_ a long time since Carlos has felt much physical contact, much less the _positive_ kind.

He blinks his eyes open for a moment, clears his throat. "A glass of water might be nice. Please." It is clear that he isn't the type to ask for things often- his expression is uncomfortable.

 \------------------------------

 "Glass of water, coming up." She smiles, gently, soothingly- touches his hand softly before pushing up. It doesn't take her long, and she grabs the little bottle of painkillers, too- just in case. Returns, and then pauses, lips twitching. 

"Alright, furry-butts, your bed has to sit up for a sec." She sets the glass down gently, the pauses. Any normal cat she would simply dump aside, but Koshekh looks kind of- 

 -prickly.  _Literally_ . 

 "I am completely not sure where it is safe to touch that thing." She forces her voice light and playful; trying to give him something other then the situation to focus on. "Seriously, that's not a cat. I've seen cats. That is  _not a cat_. C'mon, big boy. Scoot." She gently shoos him, unsure. 

 \------------------------------

 The forced lightheartedness doesn't go unnoticed, but Carlos does appreciate the gesture of kindness on her part.

 "He's mostly just spiky on top," he replies. "He gets more... _puffer-fishy_ sometimes, but usually only when he thinks his life is at risk."

 "Hey, buddy.." With a grunt, Carlos pushes himself halfway up. Carefully he eases one hand under the cat's fluffy belly. "See?" 

 Koshekh snorts moodily. He knows _exactly_ what the scientist is doing. 

 "Shh, it'll only be for a few minutes,  ok? Then you can come back." Finally that seems to work. The cat unlatches itself from the shirt, and Carlos is able to slide him off onto the floor. He sets the kitten gently down after.

 

 

 

\------------------------------

 Upstairs,  Cecil is drifting, foggy and gone; he barely even sees her when she walks in. He tracks her for a half-second, then lets his eyes slip shut uncaringly. Even awake, he seems more asleep; he's given up fighting for lucidity days ago. 

 \---------------------------------

Dana places a kiss lightly on Cecil's forehead.

 "I'm glad to see you resting," she murmurs, not even sure if he can hear or understand her. It doesn't matter though. Talking to him is partially for her _own_ emotional benefit as well. "You deserve it. You deserve all the rest you want."

\------------------------------

 Cecil smiles- faintly, more at the familiar voice then any awareness of what she's saying. It's groggy and out of it and fades after a minute; his hand, though, finds hers. Weak as a kitten, it brushes over the back, and he sighs, shifts to roll over on his side and grope, for a moment, as if searching. When he comes up empty, he frowns; but he doesn't have the energy to even try. Moments later and he's faded back into true sleep, a little pinch still between his brows. 

 \------------------------------ 

 

 

 

 The kitten squeaks protest, tries to latch back on, and winds up tumbling head over butt into Koshekh; it blinks up at him ,then, abruptly,  _fuzzes up_  like a tiny static ball, races a circle around the older cat at approximately fifty miles per hour once, twice, and  _zooms_  out of the room. 

_Zooms_  back, and waits, tail swishing, in obvious play invitation. 

 Cats. 

 Sam laughs softly, props Carlos's shoulders up with a warm, surprisingly strong arm. "You are  _way_  too calm about all this." She informs, handing over the glass. Then, more seriously- 

 "How are you? Really?" Gentle but firm. "Physically and otherwise." She feels like it's a stupid question, but she  _also_  feels like she should ask. 

 \--------------------------------

 And with the heavy thumping bounds of a cat who is more used to levitation than it is walking, Koshekh takes off after the kitten.

 "That's because I've had _way_ to much experience in dealing with him." Carlos gratefully takes the glass, cupping it between his hands and taking a long sip. His eyes follow the cats as they leave the room, before drifting up to Sam. She is like Dana in some ways- she's not afraid to ask questions when it's about someone who she cares for.

 "If you want the completely honest answer? I'm not sure." His voice is soft, steady, but it's steady in the sort of way that implies practiced calm more than it does actual stability. "I mean, I'm okay as I _can_ be, with the situation as it is." A short uncomfortable laugh. "Physically, it's not much worse than I've been for the past while. I can handle it. Otherwise, I.." He's solemn again, quiet, "I want to see him. You know I do. But- but re-stating that isn't going to get me anywhere."

 Carlos looks down a moment, then, thinking of something, reaches out with one hand to pat Sam's knee. "..and how are you?" Yes, he is avoiding talking about himself. But he also has genuine interest in Sam's well-being. "Is Dana treating you well?"

 \---------------------------------

 She sees it, notices it, but doesn't have the heart to call him on it. "As well as can be expected." She shrugs, slightly, lets his divert for now. "She doesn't trust me, and doesn't care for me that much. But she's giving me a chance- and a  _fair_  one- and that's more then I ever expected or had any right to expect. "She's got a nice smile." She finds herself adding, not  _incredibly_  sure why; but it's true all the same. "When she forgets and smiles at me." It's playful, though, not really upset, and she touches his hand lightly. 

"Look, I'm sure you'll- be able to see him soon. I, uh. I can't promise you guys will be alright, but. I have the feeling you will be. If he's calmer, we'll see about moving you upstairs tonight. Okay? Give it just a couple more hours." 

 The cats charge through again, and she yelps as Puppy races over her foot, jerking away reflexively. "Annnd you don't have to deal with that." She adds, rolling her eyes. "Plus, it'll be better for us to help you both, with you both in the same room. It makes sense." She shrugs a little, then, very quietly- "He's not  _actually_  scared of you. I mean, duh, you know that. Right?" Gentle prodding. 

 She wants to be sure. 

\-------------------------------

 He knows Sam knows, but he appreciate that she plays along anyway. "I'm glad to hear it- I was worried I'd have to give her a talk about hospitality." And the comment, albeit sudden, makes him smile. Just a tiny bit. Sam sounds as though she hadn't meant to utter the compliment, but it had come out of his own free will. "..Yeah. She does. And she'll smile more, once she has less to worry about."

 Carlos catches the young woman's fingers, giving a small squeeze. "Thanks. I- I don't want to wait more. You know that. But you and Dana are making your best judgments, and..even if I want to disagree, I _do_ have faith in you two."

 It's lucky that Sam pulls her foot up- that's the only reason that Koshekh, charging ahead with a playful sort of ferocity, doesn't slam headlong into her shin.

 His nod is subtle, barely noticeable. "I know." he says softly. "But I - I can't just _forget_ the _terror_ in his face when he saw me . I know that wasn't about me. I know that. But it doesn't make it any...easier to forget."

 \-------------------------------

 "I know." She replies, gently, watching Koshekh powerhouse by with an arched brow. Well, the kitten will be...good...for him? It seems to instill a kittenish youth in the older cat the same way it would any other, and despite her confusion and fear she can't help but be a little charmed by it. At least  _someone_ in this house is totally happy; and now she's fairly confident he's not going to hurt Puppy, who seems to be happy to be chased around the apartment at top speed. (Somewhere, something clatters, and she winces.) 

And then she looks back at Carlos and the amusement fades. 

"I know. But it  _wasn't_  you. He loves you. And when he wakes up, and sees you- picture his face then, instead." She murmurs, softly. "Imagine what he'll look like. Waking up, exhausted but healing, and smiling up at you, so happy you're alright, and near him, and the way his eyes will light up. Picture that." She smiles, gentle and warm. "It may not always help, and it won't take the memory  _away_ . But it's something." 

\-------------------------------

God. It's been... how long? A really, really long time, since Carlos last let himself freely imagine that sort of scenario. For some time Cecil was furious at him, and then Cecil was possessed, and then even the mere /possibility/ of them surviving the entire ordeal was so slim that trying to let himself think optimistically could lead only to misery.

 Now _they had a chance_. An actual, reasonable chance.

Carlos laughs, strained, but the flicker of happiness is genuine. "Y- you're going to make me _cry_ with this sort of talk, Sam."

\-------------------------------

"But you like it." She grins down at him. "C'mon, save the tears for the sappy reunion." She gives his hand a squeeze. "You're home. And safe. And I'm so sorry, Carlos." Her smile wavers, slightly. "You have no idea how sorry I am. For all of that- for everything you two had to go through."  _Still have to_ , she doesn't add. She knows better then to think this is over. They've gotten through the fast, rough downhill slide, but now they have to climb their way back up. In some ways, that will be harder. 

 "You're gonna be okay, Carlos. Both of you." She pats his hand, gently, as something else breaks and she rolls her eyes. "Just try to relax." She knows how stupid it sounds; bit it's really all she can say. She has never felt so  _helpless_ . 

\------------------------------

 "Don't apologize." His voice has a sudden surge of confidence. Insistence. "Don't apologize about all that, alright? Don't. I don't know how Cecil would've- that kitten helped him so, _so_ much, Sam. It helped him when I couldn't. And _you_ , even just knowing- in meetings and things, looking over and seeing you and knowing I wasn't alone? That meant everything. That gave me hope."

 Carlos exhales, and forces himself to relax sore muscles. "We'll be okay. We'll find a way to be okay. I just- want you to be, too, you understand?"

 \-------------------------------

 She smiles softly, and it's still edged with sadness and guilt, with the hurt of someone who knows she's done something wrong and isn't sure she can make up for it. Still, she appreciates it- and she's glad, in some way, however tiny, that she could help. "I hope so." She whispers. "I really do. I didn't want to hurt anyone- I never- realized-" She shrugs, small and shy and soft. "I'm just. Glad I could help. Make it better, in some- little way. For both of you." 

 She offers a nod, absently tracing patterns on the back of his hand. It's surprisingly childish. "Yeah. I do. And I- I will be, I think. I just. I'm not proud of myself right now. But I'll be fine." 

\-------------------------------

 "I know you didn't mean to." He smiles, and it's tense and bittersweet. "Neither did I."

 Part of Carlos still wonders if they had truly been the only people in Strex who hadn't believed in the megacorporation's motives. If there'd been two of them, there might have been more who were too scared to act or speak up, right?

 But it's too late to be wondering about that now, Carlos has to remind himself. They're out. That part of their lives is over and done with.

 Carlos rolls his head to the side to look at her. "Hey. Make me a deal. I'll work on forgiving myself, if you do the same for yourself."

 \--------------------------------

 She thumbs away a tear, nods again. "Okay." She agrees, with a weak smile. Because he's laying there, hurt and exhausted and scared with his lover battered and bruised and he's trying to make her feel better; trying to help her as much as himself. He's...special, she thinks. They both are. Special, unique people and they deserve better then this. 

They deserve so much more.  But they're out now. Out and safe, and she has  a second chance at something here, she thinks. She...doesn't want to blow it.

 "Okay, deal." Even though, in reality, he has nothing to forgive himself for. But she's not about to get into an argument with a man who looks like he's already been through the wringer. She gives his hand a gentle, playful shake. 

\-------------------------------

It's a small comfort, the agreement, but at least it's something. Carlos's smile spreads, growing a little warmer, and he shakes her hand in return. "Thanks."

 Honestly, nothing that Carlos can think of would make Sam even a  _little_ bit guilty. She is essentially a younger version of himself- curious, exploratory, and having unintentionally (at least to his knowledge) gotten mixed into a business far darker than anticipated.

\--------------------------------

She meets it, brushing her hair aside and can't help but laugh softly, a shy, unsure giggle. "You're a good man, Carlos."  She informs him softly, "You're- really amazing. Really. Just. I'm happy to know you, even if the situation sucks."  She doesn't let go of his hand- not right away, and not for a while, until he needs something more and she  _has_  to let go to get it for him. She talks about anything but the situation. Asks about Koshekh, about Night Vale itself; his answers fascinate and intrigue her, and soon they have plans about every place that Sam  _needs_  to see in Night Vale; the places that she has to find out about first hand. 

Puppy, of course, eventually claws his way back up to Carlos's stomach, padding up to his chest and investigating his face with a deep, rumbling purr and a  _mao_  inches from him. The kitten is mussed and dirty, but no worse for the wear, and when Koshekh pads in after this time leaps down and runs  _to_  him, meowing cheerfully. 

\---------------------------------

Just having the company does Carlos a lot of good. He is relieved that she didn't let go of his hand until she had to; he wouldn't have been able to let her go otherwise.

Time passes. The conversations are interesting- not quite interesting enough to stop him from thinking about Cecil, but close, and the distraction relaxes him somewhat. Sam is excited about Night Vale's abnormalities and that makes him a little excited as well.

He smiles and ruffles the kitten's fur before it jumps off, running to its new playmate, who playfully - and gently - bats at it with his paw.

 

 

"Hey."

 That's Dana, as she steps into the doorway. She looks relieved, and, maybe, just a bit hopeful. "He's calmed down. You can come up now."

_That_ grabs Carlos's attention. He pushes himself up to a sitting position. "O-oh, now? Great!"

 \--------------------------------

Sam sits a little straighter, too; she can't help but smile, mostly because  _Carlos_  looks happier- and Dana, too. Pulls away lightly, moving to give Carlos room to get up.  _There, see?_  says her smile,  but she stays silent, just offers him a hand to help him up. 

The kitten, meanwhile, has flopped onto his back and now ruthlessly attacks the older cat, all vicious harmless kitten ruthlessness. His purr is not nearly as loud as his older companion's, but he rattles with it, and Sam grins a little. He's so frightening, but so  _gentle_  with Puppy, and she's...oddly reminded of the man in the other room. 

 Startling and unknown but not something to be  _afraid_  of. From the way Carlos describes Night Vale, it's a running theme. Not that there are no dangers, but isn't that true everywhere? 

 Cecil seems to be asleep, or close to sleep; drifting if not fully out. He does, indeed, not scream when Carlos walks in; just offers a groggy not-really-aware smile before closing his eyes and sighing. Definitely not 'with it',  but far calmer, more relaxed, and seemingly aware that he's safe and secure. 

 And there's no denying that smile was very much for Carlos. 

 \----------------------------------

 The process of moving to Cecil's room is painful, but not impossible. Carlos's ankle throbs at the pressure and the rush of blood downward, but it doesn't give out when weight is put on it, and besides even if it did Sam is there to help him.

 The sight of Cecil laying there, calm, quiet, and - oh, Jesus, he just  _smiles_ \- makes Carlos choke up a little. A second later and he's in a chair at the bedside,  leaning over him, lacing his thick dark fingers between Cecil's pale bony ones and kissing his nose, his cheek, his temple.

 

Dana's smiling softly but  _genuinely_ and how happy she is to see her boys together is radiating from her features. "Just call if you need anything," she murmurs, and gestures to Sam to follow her out. They need time and they need space to themselves.

 

 

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End file.
